Salvador Dali and the Secret of Lorca

Little ashes underfoot,

making their way

through cracks in the floor,

lost pieces of happiness,

taken, stolen

close–

but not close enough to devour.

Craving the peace that comes with quiet,

instead of madness that churns in my head,

like Salvador Dali

and the secret of Lorca

remembering the memories

of silent starvation.

Alone in a mind filled with secrets and lies,

not wanting to see

or know the truth.

To give in to defeat

and cower in despair

is too noble in mind

for a life not worth living.

Tagged poetry, Scattered Nonsense, Shelli Carlisle