In a room, with the walls painted grey,
A bed, a cupboard, a table and a chair, finds their place in its emptiness.
The curtains, of a melancholic shade, drawn shut, as if the sun burns
Wrapped in solitude, my eyes can see better in this dark.
No voices, no people, only the walls to listen to,
The stories mentioned by its inhabitants that passed through.
The grimness ever spreading, reiterating a life's worth of tales
This solitary confinement is a saving grace, as the world outside fails.
And with passing time, I chose to hide
Rather than face my fears waiting outside.
Within these grey walls,
I see a chance to be at peace with myself, until one day, the heavens whisper its time to come home.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 5:49 AM UTC
In a room, with the walls painted grey,
A bed, a cupboard, a table and a chair, finds their place in its emptiness.
The curtains, of a melancholic shade, drawn shut, as if the sun burns
Wrapped in solitude, my eyes can see better in this dark.
No voices, no people, only the walls to listen to,
The stories mentioned by its inhabitants that passed through.
The grimness ever spreading, reiterating a life's worth of tales
This solitary confinement is a saving grace, as the world outside fails.
And with passing time, I chose to hide
Rather than face my fears waiting outside.
Within these grey walls,
I see a chance to be at peace with myself, until one day, the heavens whisper its time to come home.
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