Posted in Poems - A Collection of Expressions, The Wandering Mind

Through the Looking-Box

Ten years of drawer space fits inside a box,

I slot it all neatly, edge to edge

The pockets of empty space in between

Filled in with the left-overs of dusty recollections.

Sitting on my bed in the center of my room,

Watching the pieces of my life coming together,

I feel myself float away;

The spinning fan my perfect counterpart.

Fluorescent lights illuminate every corner,

Blank walls glare harshly back at me,

Questioning their lack of adornment,

The loss of their finery.

But I myself am numb, as I watch everything be removed

To the same brown packages from which

A colorful life had once exploded

Onto the walls of this once-home.

 

Is this what Life amounts to?

 

Look at those memories so neatly packed away,

A different sort of Occlumency;

Hidden, however, even from myself.

Washed up, perhaps, on the shores of my subconscious,

The detritus of my life, bobbing in the shallows,

Driftwood, shells, and shifting sands are all that remain

Links to fragments of memories,

Now locked away.

Echoes inhabit my room now

Shouting back at me even my softest whispers,

I make my escape; from looking out to looking in,

Momentarily free, before being boxed up again.

 

© Ruth P. – 2016

No part of this work may be reproduced.

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Author:

An avid reader, thinker, daydreamer and listener. I like black cats and warm rain and fast cars. And oh yes, I quite like to write too!!

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