Empty Rooms
Posted: Sat Mar 16, 2024 11:21 am
In March 2015 Empty Rooms was a homework assignment and I wrote the following eight lines in response.
An old man sits at the top of the stairs
as around him the day disappears.
The pavement still brisk; 'home hurrying' others.
He watches their thoughts. He senses their fears.
He knows of the lonely that’s etched on each face.
An existent in which one reality looms
A place set for one; a glass of forgetting;
a house filled with empty rooms.
On re-reading recently I thought I needed to tell a little more of his story.
Empty Rooms
an old man sits at the top of the stairs
as around him the day disappears
the pavement still brisk; home hurrying others
he senses their thoughts he imagines their fears
he knows of the lonely that’s etched on their faces
their dreams their yearnings commitments they’d made
when the world was a rainbow of wonderful places
and life was not lived in the cold in the shade
time was he was part of the journey the stream
he’d played the same music and sung the same songs
shared feelings with all those who’d once dared to dream
and tried to make sense of life’s rights and its wrongs
he’d walked the same pathways and run the same races
watched the world turning through life’s nights and days
loved many girls and enjoyed their embraces
been foolish and wise in so many ways
through the door just behind is a room dark and cold
haunted by echoes of what might have been
it smells of old memories and thoughts uncontrolled
and mind maps of places imagined and seen
but the day’s light is dimming the last of sun’s setting
and now in his winter one reality looms
it’s a place set for one with a glass of forgetting
a life filled with empty rooms
Wazza
An old man sits at the top of the stairs
as around him the day disappears.
The pavement still brisk; 'home hurrying' others.
He watches their thoughts. He senses their fears.
He knows of the lonely that’s etched on each face.
An existent in which one reality looms
A place set for one; a glass of forgetting;
a house filled with empty rooms.
On re-reading recently I thought I needed to tell a little more of his story.
Empty Rooms
an old man sits at the top of the stairs
as around him the day disappears
the pavement still brisk; home hurrying others
he senses their thoughts he imagines their fears
he knows of the lonely that’s etched on their faces
their dreams their yearnings commitments they’d made
when the world was a rainbow of wonderful places
and life was not lived in the cold in the shade
time was he was part of the journey the stream
he’d played the same music and sung the same songs
shared feelings with all those who’d once dared to dream
and tried to make sense of life’s rights and its wrongs
he’d walked the same pathways and run the same races
watched the world turning through life’s nights and days
loved many girls and enjoyed their embraces
been foolish and wise in so many ways
through the door just behind is a room dark and cold
haunted by echoes of what might have been
it smells of old memories and thoughts uncontrolled
and mind maps of places imagined and seen
but the day’s light is dimming the last of sun’s setting
and now in his winter one reality looms
it’s a place set for one with a glass of forgetting
a life filled with empty rooms
Wazza