From under the door I could see,
Through a line of light,
Something that could not be,
A real world’s sensible sight.
What I saw was a tree,
Probably growing upside down,
Because left and right my eyes were free,
What’s up and down was never found,
I could only see its dark brown trunk,
Narrow below and above wide,
Was it real or was I drunk,
To understand, hard I tried.
Now it was night,
Dark of sight,
And nothing I was able to see,
Lights were gone,
Sounds were on,
But silence was still heard free,
I saw no tree,
No bush and no bee,
Not even a tiny green,
My room was a prison,
I was inside for a reason,
And under the door was my screen.
Keys cluttered against the bars,
Morning alarm kept my ears on scars,
From under the door I could see,
A world I made with my fantasy,
Because inside a cell,
It was a living hell,
And my mind could only make me free!!!
My Mind's Journal 