Escape by Catherine Short

Escape
 

This house is a box.
What lurks behind those secretive walls?
Two parents, two children.
A story of ridged rules, control and submission.
Like a young lamb to the slaughter, I've no thoughts of escape.

This house is an asylum.
Adult children with bone-deep, weeping wounds,
Issues with fear and abandonment.
I am the perpetual chameleon.
From a life-time of suffering, can there be no escape?
 

This house is a prison.
Forced serenity and stifled emotion,
not daring to disagree or offer opinion.
Dreading the unknown,
Am I too paralyzed with fear to find my escape?
 

This house is a cabinet.

My heart leaps with relief at the sight
Of my fist full of pills,
Washed down with bitter-sweet wine.
In death shall I submit to my inevitable lonely escape?
 

This house is recovery.
Sterile white walls, crisp cotton sheets.
Sins bathed in bleach.
Smiling kind faces, they lock doors at night.
Terrified screams shake the shadows, pointless panning escape.

This house is a church.
Built from stone, sweat and tears.
Choirs of heavenly angels
Bathe me with love and pure peace.
Cocooned within gentle walls, I've no desire to escape.
 

This house is a meadow.
Resplendent with green pastures
And rays of buttercup sunshine
Trickling ice-blue brooks.
In God's beautiful creation, I have found my escape.