It is a walled-off portion of a place you
rarely populate; gremlins free-range,
it’s their haven for machinations, the
miscegenated malevolence of dire fear
born easy in a dry space – and nothing
clings to memory like those moments
when terrors pried chaste bars off still
cherished events, setting them free
Cure was a benevolence of goodwill, a
laudable nourishment in place of dread;
days between eased pain but a psyche
fed in captivity sustained on unfettered
imagination roving defined peripheries
dared to remember – and failed again
© 3 August 2013, I. D. Carswell
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