Castaway

Alone and adrft with the cerebral winds.

Castaway

When he was young, he hoped to hear forbidden voices,
  quiet but insistent,
      inside his head. 

Strain though he might,
the voices never came,
  never told him what to do,
      how to act, how to live. 

He slept alone with the cerebral winds.

Later, anger thrashed him,
  casting loose titanic tremors
      of iridescent emotion, but still
  he was alone with his
fury. 

No inner demons screeched beneath his furrowed
brow; no quiet angels exhorted him to tranquility.

Long since grown,
  he wondered at the absence. 

Could he have missed their murmured cries?
  Or, were the voices loud,
      yet still drowned out, submerged, by the storm and tumult
which raged and splintered his parents’ bedroom walls?