In My Two Rooms

To write is a lonely thing- I have my two rooms- My four white walls- Cold comfort guards against- The world beyond- The one I detest- Must protect myself from- Others may splash absurd colors- Desperate to create a landscape- So false, living in their outer shell- Yes, give me my solitude- My cold white corners- Writers finding their soul mates- Over wine and prose- These walls hold my secrets well- Portraits of lovers in my mind- Only whitewash- The snoring dogs- Aromas of old books- Of lead and rubber- Hearing only the twilight train- Drowns my screams of an unseen- Lost hope- Protected by grace- My fractured world- Then suddenly a package arrives- Under my door it slides “Notes from the land of the dead”- My pain temporarily absent- Falling now deep within- Arms of these four white walls- Content to be alone- Somewhere between the dawn- And the last page- Do I exist at all?

Copyright © 2016 Andrea Travis
#dedhedpoet

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3 Comments Add yours

  1. Mils says:

    This is brill. But over the past couple of days you’ve been brilliantly brill. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks Mils. I’ve been feeling more focused lately. Nice compliment!

      Liked by 1 person

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