29 November 2012
Cold is the night, trees bare of color, my only view from this damp cellar.
The only sight outside I have ever known, human compassion I was never shown.
Trapped here since age five, scraps of food and rodents keep me alive.
Mother says it is best, my gifts they wouldn't understand, levitating objects, at the movement of my hand.
My father hated my gift, he couldn't let it stand, thrown in this basement, a soft floor of sand.
On occasion I am treated, some heated soup to drink, it brings some happiness to the gloom, emptiness of this dark room.
Father promised at age 18 I would be released, the thought of being alone outside, brings me no peace.
Maybe one day I will learn to control this power, causing those around me to love, not to cower.
My Cold Cellar • Opuss № I