Locked out

A ghost must be walking this path of mine -

my bare, flat feet can’t feel it 

Under which grey cloud does our sun try to shine?

My shivering skin can’t sense it 

To where should I look for my oyster of this world?

My squinting eyes can’t see it.

The pages are falling from the story that

I only just started to write 

I locked myself out of the typewriter room

and the keys 

are on the inside

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

isolating from oneself...maybe from the muse itself...
the last two stanzas are wicked good.
the keys are on the inside and i just can't get to them...
i am locked away from myself...
sometimes we protect ourselves so strongly that instead of keeping danger out we imprison ourselves from the world.
j.

[Laura Kate]

Thank you Jacob, I appreciate it a lot
Laura

[barleygirl]

Your poem appears to be posted so near the beginning of the covid crisis, I don't read this as being THAT kind of literal isolation. This message felt to me like a palpable tapestry of life & how we struggle to make sense of what happens, but we feel locked out of any comprehension about why the world is the way it is & why people are the way they are (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Laura Kate]

Your analysis and understanding is spot on, Margie. Thank you for reading and for sharing your thoughts. With best wishes,
Laura.

[Coyote Poetry]

To write. We need reasons to write.
"A ghost must be walking this path of mine -
my bare, flat feet can’t feel it "
I liked and I understood the above lines. You are a amazing writer and thank you LouBelle for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote

[Laura Kate]

Thank you so much, Coyote.
Laura.

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome dear Laura.