Lost (.2)

[rowens]

Lightly Tickling wall-pressed-ears
is a scarce laughter.
Chasing after it, but every stride closer
the sound fades and every rest taken
it surges back.
Invisible strings,
Tugging the heart along.



I'm commenting as I read. It's best to read the poem as a whole, and comment after. But . . . I'm trying both.

There is effect in the first stanza. The Tugging could be lower-case. The L T of the first line works in its way.
It's going somewhere.




The screams from before
lynching the head,
echoing off the walls,
amplifying in tone.
Each step collapsing on itself,
every thought cutting to the bone.


Maybe lynch, without the -ing. 
echo of the walls,
amplifying in tone.

Something can be done with the line starting Each step.
The cutting to the bone is a rhyming-addon.





Eyes flick upward;
A soccer ball sitting stationary
feet away.
Cautiously standing there
watching the ball with a sideways glance.


The stationary object and the eyes create an effect.
The stanza might be over-cooked.




Bending over, shaky hands
pick it up.

The ball is here. The overall effect is a little lost.


Shrieking tears down the hall
instantaneously.
Fumbling the ball over
in a blind panic
trying to escape.
Slipping over,
crying into their arms
curled up in the fetal position.




The description here, the information is cluttered and loses some ground.


The baby’s chortles run off
into the distance
leaving them to cry
on the floor.

The symbolism of the ball could be weaved into the poem better, or dropped. 

And you can get the impression that the ball is a head.