A Bell Rung

I draw my hand down,
upon the tower’s rope,
a flicker of my eyes
a chime of hope.

Upon the bells ring,
upon the first note,
releasing thoughts
as the echo’s float
down the sea of walls
bouncing through…
the hallowed halls.

Reverberating sounds
like a weighted crown
heavy in my throat
the words sinking, a deathly
feeling, of growing bloat,
wrapping round the corners
a moat between the castle drowns.

Once rung, the twist of fate, like
a chickens neck be wrung,
it cannot be undone.

The voice of chimes, have struck a wall,
compressing, swinging round to
pummel me… is all
swooshing back, throughout the lanes
hitting me, with tremendous pains.

I draw my hand down,
upon the tower’s rope,
now left to deal with all the notes,
…the chimes,
which have left my mind.

Free floating, ever on the winds
of time, never under my control
or thoughts again;
no longer mine….
these chimes.