The Room

In a small room I sit and dream. There are so many things in here to be seen. Silver, gold and bronze, shimmering as daylight makes its entrance. Mystery hides in the walls and stories are told of great suspense. Your dreams become reality, for my world is one I created and it's real. The greatest secrets of myself lie here in this room, none of which I may reveal. The room's cold, it sends shivers down my spine. I feel safe but my thoughts are that of someone who drank a lot of wine. The only comfort I find is when I am alone and I do what I know is best. I forget my friends, my everyday surroundings and all the rest. I find pen and paper and write about love and hate. I write and write, reading my words that only make sense to me, but I never write the date. The road is paved in gold, And before you know it you're old. I like memories. They give me a feeling of rejoicing, wanting to return to what once was pure. Yet, we seem to drift and become unsure Of what was and what is yet to come. Why do I feel so dumb? Run away, I want to scream for all my troubles come from this very room. A room so dark where I'll probably end up in doom.