Poem -
Till my dying day
Living in solitude
A dusty dim room
The walls my divide
Solace gained
Remembering
A few good times
Darker thoughts
Pushed aside.
Years passed by
Life seemed to end
When the door closed
Dirty windows
Cloud the view
Darkening the room
Safe and protected
In this lonely abode.
No more days of laughter
No more smiles
Now or in the hereafter
Only stifled tears.
On the outside
No one left to see
On the outside
No where to flee.
Books read and reread
Dusty volumes hoarded
Herein my fantasies bred.
This my lonely place
Held in its embrace
Safe here inside,
From the outside rat race.
Exiled here without remorse,
Here now to stay
Till my dying day.
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Comments
to write as you do does not come easy, though it does seem to roll right off of your "pen" in a stream of consciousness. it might be so, but that gift or curse was earned somehow in the living. I salute you and your gift.
Thank you Mark for your most kind comment, it is highly appreciated and yes as with much that one writes it is in thr living.
'This is my lonely place'
this line for me stood out ...
When there is no one left to bear witness...
who are we then? Great write x