This Place


a - the place

There’s something strange about this place,
the way they speak, painted smiles upon their faces,
all speaking words, like some well-rehearsed play,
conveying the same message, please won’t you stay?

I want to leave, more than anything else,
yet, day after day, I’m losing my sense of self,
trying to remember my reasoning why,
I would ever want to leave, now I no longer try.

Years now go by, in the blink of an eye,
memories of before, forced into hiding,
new people arrive, with a strange look on their faces,
I convince them to stay, to have belief in this place.

There’s nothing strange about this place,
other than anyone thinking they could ever escape,
for we could never leave, why would we even want to,
to try and remember, becomes increasingly impossible.

So, we stay.

For its all we can do.

A - website footer


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Wendy Pratt

Poet, Author, Editor, Facilitator

Inking Prose & Poetry

The Art of Prose and Poetry

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Writing, Poetry, Short Stories, Reviews, Art Contests

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