PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I walk in, engulfed in the shades of black and gray.
Black curtains casts out the light of the day.
Cobwebs cling to the corners, there's too much dust.
Crosses for the mourners, roses are a romantic must.
I'll light candles, the flames flicker and dance.
I'll burn my incense, veg out on my gloom-induced trance.
Metal,iron and vinyl, feel so cold to the touch.
I'll escape the voices, into sanctuary, my beloved crutch.

A box with a thousand voices sits on smudged glass.
Silver picture frames, devour memories past.
Asian statues, spiritual guides to the world within.
Cluttered, failure, ghetto pseudo Zen.
Trinkets, mementos and charms.
I'll pull an Egyptian, bury myself with riches.
To feel the void, attempt to mend all the stitches.

I got a fat orange cat who takes all my calls.
At times when I'd rather just stare at the walls.
Gazing at the ceiling infested with glow-in-the-dark stars.
Fake and plastic, they provide the illusion.
As fake as the idols that adorn my mirror.
They've been bought, ripped, stuffed and sewed.
Yet why is it that I adore them so?

White table possessed with every hue imaginable.
Paintbrushes, paper, pencils, an artist oasis galore.
Crumpled discarded expressions, mind-flow-block undeniable.
Lone painting, screaming to be finished.
I just can't find the inspiration like before.

Though it's not a church tower.
Though I don't ring the bells.
I'm not hunch-backed ethier.
This is my sanctuary.
A nook, shut off from the world to see.
A space where I can simply be.