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My Room

My Room
Crumpled paper litters the floor
recycled thoughts returning home
my soul has become a stowaway
within each scribbled dropping
books line the many shelves
a collection of all my friends
love and companionship
need not always be reciprocated
Poet's stare at me from every wall
their words pierce my very core
for they know who I really am
yet have only seen me in their own reflection
an ivory chess set boasts its splendor
signifying the game in progress
although I find it easy beating myself
having always been a professional at it
two pictures adorn the front wall
one, a crippled lady
the other an old stray
both hold my biography
an autographed basketball
signed by inner city youths
my personal dream team
their greatest victory, still breathing
the antique radio
blares modern music
only to echo
songs of the past
a shiny 357 with one bullet chambered
to protect me from the intruder
that one day will invade my mind
I refuse to apologize for the mess.

Copyright © Bob shank | Year Posted 2017

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  1. Date: 3/4/2017 8:57:00 AM

    Ha, this was wonderful to read. A sense of rebellion in controlled chaos to describe your surroundings. I very much enjoyed it. I wrote a similar poem called Salt and Pepper Shakers, but it was strictly an observational poem with limited feelings. This had good emotion in it.

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