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?
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