PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There’s still film on the window next to my bed.  The green and blue hues that blanket the walls don’t seem quite as bright.  The red however, pounds endlessly through the room.  Like a dense fog holding a memory almost better than I can.  Strange, the bed still smells the same, the dogs still bark at passing cars, but the air is empty.  Empty like my bed, like my heart.  Empty like the glass beside me and the driveway out front.  Empty like the souls next door and the shoes on my floor, but not like my head.  Not like the pen in my hand which gives life to those thoughts, lumped in my brain just waiting for attention.  Thrown in there like babies waiting to be born or else like chickens waiting to be slaughtered, fed to my night to keep it alive.  Such fantasies and horrors I can not understand all at once, only one at a time.  I cringe as they are fed to the flame full of wax to light my empty paper, cluttered with the hopes and curiosities that vacate my mind to be born into a world, to be seen, to be heard and understood.  Yet still meaning nothing to the countless people that will never read them, thus empty.  Slowly the thoughts die off one by one and the light begins to fade.  The dogs quit barking and a breeze sneaks by the window, suddenly my heart no longer feels empty.  As my head clears a solemn dream overtakes me and I drift to sleep in your arms.