Four Little RoomsA Poem by Schatz Staying up till dawn writing and wishing the sun would not rise He lived in four little rooms locked behind the door. And the night shined through where a light shined before. A red flame burned ashen gray, lying on the floor.
And grind on down. And scrape the path you drag around. Stumblin’ on the way. A new day with no grace to say, starin’ down the ground.
when you’re drunk. Or when you’re full of faith and barely saved. It’s only things that fade. And leave impressions in the dark. And demons in the haze. Sunlight burns night away, and darkness into day.
And make the lamps low. And watch the white screen glow, black on grey. The words that you say. And drain yourself away. Another night burned white by day. I beg you Darkness, come again! Are you fated? Or are you led? Well either way the moon will grow. And spread out wide across the snow. Piled high and ploughed. Raised between the lines. And layered across the years. © 2023 Schatz |
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1 Review Added on November 8, 2023 Last Updated on November 19, 2023 Author
SchatzDenver, COAboutI am a social psychology professor in Denver Colorado. Amateur poet, songwriter, satirist, and (recently for the first time) a novelette writer. Tired of academic writing. Ready to enter the world .. more..Writing
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