Treasure Island

meggan o reilly

(27-03-1995 / dublin)

A dark babies home and mother.

I live in a dark house,
One window, divided into 4 small square coffins.
The curtains are black,
Just like the hole my soul sleeps in,
She's used to it there -familiarisation.
The walls laugh at me, yet not a laugh of a sweet child,
But almost the cry of a still born baby; silence in its loudest form.
The coldness of the tiles are hollow and make an echoing sound,
Can I fall down there?
Perhaps'there' lies my escape route.
It could lead me to china,
A baby handed into my arms,
They say the chinese give away their babies,
Mine was taken away from me,

The kettle boils and steam is raised,
It frightens me,
A train containing a horrid mouth and tongue,
Twisted and churned,
The hissing sound disturbs my heart,
Terrified of a kettle, don't be silly.
It is my pain,
Burning through my skin, blisters are raised too.
The eeriness of this house, makes me feel at home,
I like my dark home.
I like where I live.
Darkness I am familiar with.
It is my friend.

Submitted: Sunday, March 31, 2013
Listen to this poem:

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (A dark babies home and mother. by meggan o reilly )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. A Dream Within A Dream
    Edgar Allan Poe Updates

Poem of the Day

poet Robert Burns

When biting Boreas, fell and doure,
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r;
When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r,
Far south the lift,
...... Read complete »


Modern Poem

poet Jessie Pope

[Hata Bildir]