Old pine paneling
A tarnished bedside stand
A stack of classic books
A pen, some ink and sand
A mirror hung askew, as if to make a statement
The way I often see myself is subject to displacement
And evident in my surroundings
Cold steel frame, old boxspring sounding
Drowning all else out
The screech of antique coils, bearing weight with doubt
A stout box of cigars, empty for a century
So hollow and profound, like it really gets me
Let me ramble on
Or simply walk away
I’m bound to change while you are gone
Love your style. The lines just flow!
Thank you. I’m glad you like it. Some days I think I’ll go crazy from thinking in rhymes.
I’ve had the same thought! You just need to write it down sometimes!