Home » Poetry » Four Walls And Myself.

Four Walls And Myself.

Head in palm I sit defeated.

It’s not out of necessity

but choice, I think how come?

In a world of opportunity, what’s left of me but this?

Tangled in my heartache, what’s left for me but this?

Fist to chin I sit and wait,

for thought to turn to word, to pen.

Has writing any of this down, ever made me any sense?

Has stewing in this endless grief, ever made me any cents?

It’s times like this I dare not move.

I dare not speak but listen,

to the winds which wrap my innocence

in a shroud of Turin—distant.

What’s left of me but gall?

The daylight helps me see,

somewhere within this shell of me

is darkness and that’s all.

I wish I had the answer, the one you claim to see.

I wish I had your courage, your courage to believe.

This wooden desk is cold.

My heart is growing old.

I’d rhyme a couple lines or two, if younger were my skin.

Settling I feel, my insides wearing thin.

What’s left of me but this?

What’s left for me is everything I fear to touch with reason.

What’s left of me’s so tangled in the ever changing seasons.

With arms crossed round my chest, I sit in awful doubt.

It’s here I know the meaning, of four walls and myself.

It’s here I risk repeating, a fate which is not mine.

It’s here I hope I’m worthy still, of love which I’ve denied.

2 thoughts on “Four Walls And Myself.

  1. What’s left of you is amazing. It’s strength. You have it there. Your words are a great comfort to me 🙏🏾

    And you don’t have to hurt. There are those of us who have love to give. But I do feel your pain. I feel your questions.

    Hugs 💜

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s