Oubliette

An unobtrusive door, far back beyond
the castle's bustle, winding flight of stairs
and then damp walls, a trapdoor - in the pit

no place to be: perambulation's out
and even breathing takes more space. This is
where undesirables end up, to be

forgotten quickly, utterly. At times
you have the place cleaned out to make some room
for new aversions. I have been there long;

or part of me, at least, locked up beneath
the rooms of comfort, human charm or grace,
capacity for loving stowed away

and cramped in hiding. When you call, you'll find
too long disuse has caused your prisoner
to lose command of what was left behind.