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My room forever more

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Below is the poem entitled My room forever more which was written by poet Chris Matt. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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My room forever more

In this house so ominous, I did hear a hiss.
What could it in this, alone in house and room.
It was a sound of a crack, like shivers go down the back.
There it is again, a low-lying sound of gloom, 
“Tis anyone out there,” I mumbled in utter gloom.
I hope not my doom.

In these times of coldness and snow showers, 
what could it be at this hour not resting I assume.
Whatever spirit I hope fair, removing myself from this chair.
“Who is out there,” opening the door as if a tomb,
nothing but an empty hallway, not a door to a tomb.
I will not think of whom.

I go back to my chair in front of the fireplace, 
grabbing a fire poker just in case it were to resume.
My mind wondering around, 'what could make that sound?'
In the quietness I hear a pound, as if it were a boom,
I curl up in the chair, 'from where did I hear this boom?'
Maybe a joker in costume.

I stare at the burning embers and I do ignore, 
is something at the door, not to fear I shakingly presume.
I will never again sleep, so along the pathway I creep.
Tensely I crept to the door, “my body this room will not entomb,”
If I do not look, then my body will forever be in my mind entomb.
No one here but a wooden broom.

How can I go on in a small area living like this, 
staring at the one I do miss, I can still smell her perfume.
The scent does fill my nose, like only she could and knows.
Her body at rest and I will not be the one to exhume, 
although it shall be my body that by morrow one does exhume.
For me no flower will bloom.

Out of the side of my eye, in the corner is a snake, 
that could rattle one awake, and could startle a groom.
“What is it that you seek?  I am very old and meek.”
In the mist I do see something, it is a smokey plume, 
forming a man, it is getting clearer this once hazy plume.
“Who is it, I ask whom?”

Then at once I see the ghostly image is me, 
but how can this be, is this my fate and final doom?
“This just cannot be the end, for I have no time to mend.”
If so take me, take me out of this wretched room, 
I will feel no more fear, once out of this wretched room.
But this place is forever my tomb.

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  1. Date: 8/27/2011 12:40:00 PM
    What a wonderful start to my weekend reading your wonderful poetry Chris. Thank you for sharing your writing. Hope you are having a beautiful weekend. Love, Carol