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Lost Prisoners

There are places now,
Closed chambers and bolted chains,
Where the immortalised whisper
Timeless and tortured behind pretty frames.
 
Can you hear them? Listen closely...
The galleries and museums must ring,
They’re coughing, stuttering, choking and rambling,
They’ve forgotten, forgotten how to sing.
 
They’re parching, longing for touch
Warm hands and breath, hot or cold,
A protector, a shield, a lover, a comforter,
Dreaming of stories, of worlds to unfold.
 
Through glass walls they watch a world,
Though inside they hold a better view,
Resigned and agonised these portals are lost,
The books are dying for want of you.

(2013)

#BooksArtLoss

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