Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Words
"awall" poems
Sitting here, surrounded by these pictures on a wall The images, just moments trapped in time The faces seem to speak to me, and I can hear them all Perhaps it’s just a dream, though they linger in my mind. The doors are closed, I stay apart, the shades are pulled down low I listen to them call from deep inside The frozen half smiles worry me, but nowhere do I go So here above my lamp, with my desire, I reside. Somewhere deep within my lost, and lonely memories Faded black and white my world became I, am locked inside with these companions that I see Each kept behind a shining silver frame. Protected from the ravages of age, they seem to hide But I, have not the hope of prolonged years Seasons wax and wain, although I cannot peer outside Hearing voices no one else but I, am there to hear. At times, I long to drift to sleep, stay lost within my dreams Awake, I find the faces watching me I’ve tried to run, although I have no place to run it seems The voices call to distant places, I can’t be. For years these things have been, and will be part of my existence I pray someday the lamp will lose it’s light For now I must endure my fate, at times unfelt insistence I long for only sunset, and the dark, embracing night. Within this empty room, it seems I’m lost among the crowd Just another face, that prays for peace The lamp too dim but far too bright, the silence much too loud They look into my soul, I’m strangely ill at ease. How long will these eyes remain there, never blinking? How many years have I been here, and how When will loss of light and time, relieve this dreadful thinking That I do not participate, within the here and now. I feel that time has ceased for me, that I do not exist I see they’re eyes, though can’t recall the names When will all my fears subside, to take me from all this And if they do, what part of me if any, will remain? My story is a tale of woe, a clouded, desperate vision The fear of never being real, at all I’m trapped within my silver frame, with certain indecision For you see my friends, I too, am but a picture on the wall. Dean Evans 5-25-14
0
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
dean-evans9f
PICTURES ON AWALL
Sitting here, surrounded by these pictures on a wall The images, just moments trapped in time The faces seem to speak to me, and I can hear them all Perhaps it’s just a dream, though they linger in my mind. The doors are closed, I stay apart, the shades are pulled down low I listen to them call from deep inside The frozen half smiles worry me, but nowhere do I go So here above my lamp, with my desire, I reside. Somewhere deep within my lost, and lonely memories Faded black and white my world became I, am locked inside with these companions that I see Each kept behind a shining silver frame. Protected from the ravages of age, they seem to hide But I, have not the hope of prolonged years Seasons wax and wain, although I cannot peer outside Hearing voices no one else but I, am there to hear. At times, I long to drift to sleep, stay lost within my dreams Awake, I find the faces watching me I’ve tried to run, although I have no place to run it seems The voices call to distant places, I can’t be. For years these things have been, and will be part of my existence I pray someday the lamp will lose it’s light For now I must endure my fate, at times unfelt insistence I long for only sunset, and the dark, embracing night. Within this empty room, it seems I’m lost among the crowd Just another face, that prays for peace The lamp too dim but far too bright, the silence much too loud They look into my soul, I’m strangely ill at ease. How long will these eyes remain there, never blinking? How many years have I been here, and how When will loss of light and time, relieve this dreadful thinking That I do not participate, within the here and now. I feel that time has ceased for me, that I do not exist I see they’re eyes, though can’t recall the names When will all my fears subside, to take me from all this And if they do, what part of me if any, will remain? My story is a tale of woe, a clouded, desperate vision The fear of never being real, at all I’m trapped within my silver frame, with certain indecision For you see my friends, I too, am but a picture on the wall. Dean Evans 5-25-14
Continue reading...
42