PRISONER OF A THOUGHT

Can you describe a feeling?
How it feels when you reach out
Expecting the familiar touch
Of those warm hands, something
You had got so accustomed to,
Something you believed would always be there;
And then you open your eyes
And there in your hands lies emptiness,
Not the comfort of everlasting love
But a fragrance released
By the floodgates of memory,
Chaining your future to your past
And fading out your present,
Making it dwell in a room
Where there is only one window,
Through which all that you believed in,
Lies submerged in a gory shadowiness.
The knowledge of something so close to heart,
That it turns scary as days grow into years,
And the passing seconds count your fears.
At a time like this wouldn’t you
Want to be blind?
Wouldn’t you want to drift away in time?
Would you not want to give up sight for consciousness’ eyes?
Wouldn’t there be a craving to believe in lies?
When you know that the hands you seek shall never be there,
A memory, bound and gagged, sentenced to the electric chair.