The Room Without Doors
I live inside a room of sighs,
Its walls hum softly, a mournful song,
No windows show the passing world,
No doors remain to let me go.
The floor remembers every step I took,
Each echo folded into dust and shadow,
The air is thick with unspoken names,
Whispering through the corners of thought.
Candles burn with reluctant flame,
Their wax melting slow like weary time,
Light bends and stretches, uncertain,
Casting shapes that are not my own.
I talk to echoes that wear my face,
They answer back with hollow tones,
Their voices like wind through paper stones,
Saying nothing and saying it all.
The chair waits, silent, patient,
Its cushion pressed by memories I cannot shake,
The walls lean close to listen,
And breathe out sighs I cannot contain.
Time itself seems trapped here,
Minutes fold into hours that fall into nights,
I pace the room and find no escape,
Every thought a chain, every breath a link.
Shadows gather, forming quiet shapes,
They sit with me and speak in silence,
The air hums, a living thing,
A keeper of all that is lost.
I close my eyes, yet still I see,
Faces I cannot name, hands I cannot hold,
The room inhales, holding me within,
And I remain, endlessly, among the sighs.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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More stories from Marie381Uk and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Blue Ridge Stalker
Tom had left the Ford down the way, its spark plugs finally exhausted and no mechanics for a dozen miles back through the foothills to Strossburg. No matter, he had worn his boots—almost as if he planned for this to happen. The puzzle he sought to solve emanated from the woods clinging to the slopes above; the valley behind held no mysteries.
By Stephen A. Roddewig2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
I think we all have this feeling from time to time to work things out one way or another. I may have read too much into this poem. Good work.