this room
swallows me whole
in the middle of night's yawn
i tumble
inhaled by
the hunger of loneliness
my bed,
lapping me up greedily
pillows,
nuzzling against my temple
warm pseudo lovers
in this room,
i'm servile to its protective purposes
relaxed against
the walls
struggling to stand alone
i can do alone
i'd just rather not
this room,
my painter's brush...
is as much the cramp in my hand
as it is my palette's fancy
in this room,
amid ideas, refuge and vices
i'm in a surreal loop
of many a reason
that convince me
in this room,
is where i belong...
i shouldn't be resigned to this space
and it's not that i even avoid life's face...
it's the way this room holds me
and gives me life,
like my spirit reverberates
off these walls
in a constant rhythm
against my heart
and THAT
makes this room...where i belong.
i shouldn't be resigned to this space
and it's not that i even avoid life's face...
it's the way this room holds me
and gives me life,
like my spirit reverberates
off these walls
in a constant rhythm
against my heart
and THAT
makes this room...where i belong.
5 comments:
Excellent, I really like the way you turned a phrase or two here.
Thanks Reggie...explain a little further if you will. :)
Love the wonderful metaphors you used.
What I mean is that a lot of imagination and thought goes into what you write. It's not just your use of metaphors Kween. It's more about the way your words give the reader the ability to almost see what you're writing.
You're a very good writer.
@No Labels~ Thanks BB..I'm at a stand still currently :(
@Reggie~ wow...thank you. Really...that makes me feel a whole lot better about my poetic self right now.
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