Darkroom Poems - Poems about Darkroom

I search for light amidst the darkness feeling my way aimlessly along as I call out my pleas echoing off the walls going unanswered Stumbling bumbling blindly into cobwebbed corners choking on the dust from the corpses of dead dreams Desperate to discern a mere flicker a flash a friendly voice the grip of a guiding hand in this empty cold and clammy room devoid of windows or doors where I wither away My prison My tomb...

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In the darkroom, she sat near the window. Her swollen lips pressed against the glass.  Thinking of her abusive past,  With her last breath left, Her eyes begin to cry tears,  of blood that streak down the broken glass,  from pane to pane across the French window.   Bleeding and dripping blood upon the sill.  As her body lay still over the pane, Of glass with her lips pressed against the French window....

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Darkroom A room stayed in negativeness, provides to be disordered upon faint illumination. Some metallic clink drives the chaos, sums rousing fluid facing turmoil. Submerged paper being toyed about, mixed soon waved next drafts to dangle. A specific calming promptly hereafter, fate charge ahead proving one's aims. A final snapshot garners a smile, a peacock flees, as liquids settle, droplets dissolve, disarray relieved, a room darkens. 2020 July 02...

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Do not cry...do not weep, I understand your sorrow mother, I feel your agony in deep, You are not the only one, Who lost her first sparrow, Who screamed in the dark, Who felt the nip, There are thousands,... Rather millions..Like you, Who are living in anxiety Praying to almighty, They want to peep... Behind the wall...to see How do they pack them, How do they keep, If...

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In my dark and creepy closet There's a very large deposit Of monsters and ghosts And they think I'm their host Tonight is halloween And I hear a chilling scream From the children next door Which I choose to ignore The hour's getting near Cause they whisper in my ear That someone must die But they can't tell me why Then my Mom, opens the...

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Is it not enough that you’ve hung me beside myself from your fraying rope - tendered by graying wooden clips with rubber fingers? Must we really soak on dry until we are sepia toned under-developed photographs, left on fix? Why is it you still feel the need to marinate my every flexed tendon in formaldehyde? Is it the slow bumping...

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my darkroom where i develop film filled with chosen memorys taken for my brain to remember the week of yesterday with churchbells in the background as your face fills the frame this paper submerged in this solvent brings to life an image no other like on earth it rises drip dries on a string with a red bulb for company and a locked door just the same scattered torn...

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COMPLETELY INCOMPLETE; I WALK ASLEEP DREAMING YOUR EYES/ THROWING MY COMMON SENSE ASIDE; WISHING YOU'D NOTICE ME/ FOR A MOMENTS PLEASURE; I EMBRACE YOUR SCENT/ GATHERING EVERY CHANCE TO SEE YOU; BLOWING ME AWAY/ REPLAY SCENARIOS MADE FOR THAT ONE DAY/ YOU STAY ON MY MIND; HOLDING ANSWERES TO MY QUESTIONS/ I AWAIT YOUR VOICE;...

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