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?