Corridors Poems - Poems about Corridors

I was an ethereal shadow in the corridors, a whisper of denim and shy glances floating among them

I was an ethereal shadow in the corridors, a whisper of denim and shy glances floating among them,
Invisible in their noisy bustle, a ghost with a too-polite smile, always on the edge,
Their notes flew like grenades, exploding into laughter that tore through the silence eating away at me inside,
I wore their words like a second

The corridors of Hell

The sound of army boots marching upon marble tiles
that leads into a corridor near the towers
and the echoes of screaming children 
brought me to my knees and I found myself
in an unusual place staring in space

I am staring down the corridors of hell
I wake up thinking that I was dead
I must have had a bad

Corridors of Quiet Chaos

Blinding lights, the smell of chlorhexidine
Green colored scrubs, white coats and the strange red of povidone-iodine

A place where chaos and calm coexist as two sides of a coin
A realm where anguish and hope align, a balance between both cruel and divine

It’s a glimpse of hope for some, for others it’s a livelihood
It’s a place where

In the Narrow Corridors of Lost Time

In the narrow corridors of lost time,
where light seeks its shadows in dusty corners,
words sit like butterflies with heavy wings,
suffering under the weight of unspoken silences.
In the silent cells of a forgotten world,
my books traverse walls, like birds searching
for the sky in a windowless world,
trying to free thoughts trapped in chains of paper.
I wrote for

In the labyrinth of memories, their steps dance gracefully through narrow corridors

In the labyrinth of memories, their steps dance gracefully through narrow corridors,
Silent echoes of untouched hearts, intertwined with the thin thread of experience,
Their eyes - crystalline mirrors reflecting a universe not yet fully explored,
Their laughter - a cascade of hopes pouring over ungnawed rocks of doubt.
Souls untouched by the storms of disappointment, rose petals still

In the silent corridors of the cosmos

In the silent corridors of the cosmos,
where whispers of ancient wisdom entwine with stardust,
lies a realm unseen by the mortal eye,
where truths, pure and untainted, float like ethereal whispers.
Literal thinking, a shadow upon the sacred light,
turns the divine into chains of superstition,
crystal-clear waters of wisdom, now murky and confined,
where once the spirit soared, now tethered

In the shadowed corridors of the mind, where echoes of forgotten dreams persist

In the shadowed corridors of the mind, where echoes of forgotten dreams persist,
People dance through life, weaving patterns of absurdity to avoid the abyss within,
Avoiding the cold mirror of the soul, where truth waits, silent and unyielding,
For it is not in imagining figures of light that we find our true selves,
But in the brave embrace

I wander through the corridors of my thoughts, a labyrinth of echoes and whispers

I wander through the corridors of my thoughts, a labyrinth of echoes and whispers,
Where each heartbeat is a drummer of longing,
and each breath a sigh of the universe.
I taste loneliness, its flavor more potent than anything else,
The chair I sit in, the room, the house—all lack substance,
A ghost in a world where I am the

I wander through the corridors of my mind

I wander through the corridors of my mind,
a labyrinth of echoes and whispers,
Where each heartbeat is a drummer of destiny,
and each breath a sigh of the cosmos.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet—all are bound by the threads of imagination,
A tapestry of madness, love, and creation,
each thread, an untold story.
The lunatic, lost in his own

In the quiet corridors of my mind, where thoughts flow like rivers through ancient valleys

In the quiet corridors of my mind, where thoughts flow like rivers through ancient valleys,
I ponder the nature of wars and the battles fought not for land, but for the dominion of words.
Language, the most lethal weapon forged by man, sharp as any blade and subtle as a whisper,
Cuts through the fabric of reality, shaping

In the labyrinth of thoughts, my mind wanders through the corridors of reflection

In the labyrinth of thoughts, my mind wanders through the corridors of reflection,
Each twist and turn a whisper of the soul,
For truth, raw and unadorned, can cut like a blade,
But wrapped in laughter, it becomes a balm, a gentle revelation.
In the theater of life, we don masks of mirth,
Hiding the sharp edges of reality behind

In the winding corridors of thoughts, where shadows whisper softly

In the winding corridors of thoughts, where shadows whisper softly,
We wander, seekers of truth, in an endless quest like the night sky,
Truth, like meaning, is elusive, a mirage on the horizon of our minds,
An infinite expanse, always beyond our reach, always inaccessible.
We are travelers on a road without a destination,
Driven by a desire to understand,

In the corridors of the modern soul, where echoes of ancient fears still whisper

In the corridors of the modern soul, where echoes of ancient fears still whisper,
We run, we chase, we bury ourselves in the clutter of endless pursuits,
Like children caught in the thrall of a wild, untamed tempest,
Afraid to pause, to feel our pulsating essence.
Our days are filled with ceaseless hustle,
A dance of tasks that blur the

In the quiet corridors of my mind, where memory and flickering thoughts reside

In the quiet corridors of my mind, where memory and flickering thoughts reside,
we tell ourselves stories in order to live, to find meaning in the chaos,
seeking sermons in the despair of loss, searching for lessons in violence,
where five snuffed-out lives become a moral parable,
a narrative we shape to comprehend an incomprehensible reality.
We are the weavers

In the shadow of the night, on the corridors of magical silence, keeping the sacred secret

In the shadow of the night, on the corridors of magical silence, keeping the sacred secret,
I would send souls in search of a love made of mist and torn pain,
To transform sorrow into poetry, cheap wine into sacred nectar,
Sufferings into divine temples, opening the gates of hidden longing.
To get lost under the sky transformed by

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