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I sit here in my studio
the room of my life
sitting in complete blindness
with blank verse and forgotten words
where dust clings to yesterday
unable to give up my innocent past
or the dreams wearing new costumes
suffering with eyeballs that never open
like wall sockets without power
beating to the beats of my soul
compelled to listen to yesterday forgotten
where nothing is what it seemed to be
offering windows of light and laughter
without conversations with my thoughts
never fearing death only endless nights
exhausted with the exertion of a poet
where words sit alone in prison
tumbling towards an empty page
I remain invisible to the world
opening the gates to another poem
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8 comments:
Thanks for your visit to my offering to We Write Poems.
Every stanza - I can relate. The third stanza is a mirror. Perhaps for all unsung voices?
And yet not so invisible when we share - thank you.
I was about to echo what Jules said, we are invisible only until we share what we have written. Thank you for doing so. Your words are easily related to,
Elizabeth
http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2012/12/12/here-but-for-me-there-were-dragons/
You say it well. I don't think I have thought of it lately, this room, this studio, is the room of my life. I've looked at other rooms, and thought I wouldn't want to live there. But I guess this room is good! I am here each morning, and leave in the afternoon, painting, and writing.
Nice poem, Wayne. Love the third stanza. By the way, love the photos of Cuba on fb.
Cheers,
Pamela
I can relate to that feeling of invisibility. The second stanza really grabbed me -- all those "dreams wearing new costumes". Mine seem to reappear even though I banish them or give them form through words.
-Nicole
Nicely written :)
Regards
Sabi Sunshine
Far from invisible here, Wayne. Love this poem.
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