26

My oubliette,
Is full to brim,
though always fully covered.
Shortsighted effort,
to overlook,
things better off forgot.

My castle grounds are set above,
covering my oubliette,
lording over,
my estate,
hides this forgotten 
well.

Outside views are always caught,
on cornice
and crenelation,
looping vines and fertile gardens ring
my stately manor.
Crafted lawns, 
ornate design
to the eye, a wonder.
Soaking in the purest light,
allowed in 
by the glass.

It is no wonder,
that
my gardens,
flourish,
without much care.
For under all my 
castle,
rotting,
the oubliette is hidden there.

If I was strong enough to 
use 
my oubliette,
the proper way,
my life would be less sorrowful,
its darkest pieces 
left to stay,
inside that darkened tunnel,
shaft to a lesser hell,
and all I cast therein,
would be forgotten there as well.

But as a hound returns again
to its evicted filth,
I'm always at the oubliette
because I can't forget.
Perhaps, if 
I kept it shuttered,
with no holes for air,
I could at least keep living,
with dull pain 
deep inside.
Instead of constant 
javelins,
twisting through my spine,
cold air whistling 
O'er exposed nerve,
one word at a time.

I'm hollowed out,
but emptiness,
does not relieve
sensation.
The aches reverberate
rebounding,
off the walls
inside.
My heart acoustically
succeeds
in doubling desolation,
and in the void I find
a fullness of despair.

At night my oubliette
whispers,
creeps into my dreams,
and without fail 
I find myself
at its lip again.
I'll never flee
it's cold embrace,
the vacuum
has its hold,
instead
so soon
I'll vanish, 
gone,
into 
the oubliette.