Till I Rise from the Pit

Oh, my dear child, I ache for you

Locked in the attic always shushed,
While kindred souls 
carved stories into you.
I understand — 
the rituals were familial,


Hollow stares, 
malice lingering all around you.
Did the tables turn?

What do you think?
The postman doubted the 
whisper of heaven.


Once again, 
the sin of ignorance weighs more.

           - Nodame