PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Here I sit alone again,

Amongst the ruinous monument to my life,

Isolated from the world and societal bliss,

All that is allowed here are thoughts,

Of want, desire, fear, pride and angst.

Here is where wallow resides and in him,

I can rest my head and trust in his all consuming love,

For he is all I truly have,

The unhealthy lover of my mind.

He unleashes unspeakable tortures

In their horror lies truth buried in pain.

Here the walls lie serenly lilac,

Reminders of my childhood days

With my bookcase and its crazed diversity

As it has aged with me

From Suess to Dickinson, it has remained faithful,

The picture frames around the room smile back,

Happy memories I can no longer grasp,

And those who share the paper with me,

Now are fading faces of the past.

My first dear friend with the curling hair,

And shy misciveous eyes, I no longer know.

Those friends newfound and cherished,

Also have their places of honor.

Our now disassembled rowing team,

Graces my dressers head, and our grad night,

Shines gleaming on the mirrors edge,

These I see quite often, but do they remember me?

My shrine to happy hopping frogs

Still remains upon the wall, with posters of past phases,

All now regretable and forlorn

This room is comfort with its warm forgiving nature,

The quilt my grandmother made,

And the clothes thrown carelessly to the floor.

But my absense has been long and lasting,

So again do they remember me?

Here is where my heart lies bleeding on the floor,

Because here is where life's lesson learned,

It jumped and flailed,

Then in accepting broke.

No matter where or who or when,

Reaching another human being is near impossible,

For to matter others have to care.