Poem By My Son Trystan Poem by Kurt Philip Behm

No more

Mothballs and cedar assault my nose

The dust mites and stale air dry my throat

A wardrobe that is just that



The lion roars no more

Neutered and robbed of his fire

The last time the words were read



In the darkness of this cell I fear the witch no more

Drunk at her cauldron

Slurred words conjure no magic



Snow driven mountains of pure white

Have dissolved into a gray haze

Footprints like bread crumbs dissolved



My desperate escape blocked

Solid wood between me and salvation

My world made infinitely smaller

- When the gateway to Narnia can no longer be imagined, the magic dies


(Trystan Colin Behm- April,2024)