Gone Are Those Days

Gone are those days we lived amongst barbarians.

My neighbor is a kind man.
She will not throw me to the wolves.
Our eyes search each other,
to spot tell-tale signs.

Fear no more the pinch of the pitchforks,
when mobs with torches lit up our homes,
and dangled us like dolls until we fell into darkness

Our loud cries fail to reach their crevices.
Cold shoulders at every twisted turn.
All doors closed, under lock.

Lined up like gnomes in the neighbor's winter yard,
toed caps tilted in silent attention,
tiny figures bound to stillness and waiting,
stoic and out of place, watched yet unseen,
while you dressed in gowns—
yet forced us to accept promises,
proud enough to make any heart churn,
leaving us there, small and still.