Four Walls

'Tis small, my room, barely a living space at all
more like a cupboard with a window, an enclosed covered stall
with a chest of drawers, and two lengthy shelves
contains everything I own, bought with material wealth

Oh my bed, I lay my head, in comfort, a flowing stream
to rest, to sleep, the warm sweep of lifting dreams
within reach, always there to take, my notepad and pen
the place where thoughts collect, take shape, break into the open

Cluttered like my mind, when the blinds have shut and darkness envelops
but everything is mine, a collection of stories helps me to develop
then I see that cuddly toy, a tear wells, starts to spill
on my page, my words lost under the floods that fill

The guitar that sits, not picked or strummed just collects the dust
of old memories, numbed old spaces, places I've loved
now so out of tune, the chords don't ring true
not played a piece since the day I left you

This room, where I spent so much time alone, a long way to go
but now its more a rest stop than an inescapable prison though
for every shed tear, all those years spent screaming inside
with every bad memory there is also light, joy and laughter to guide

Thanks for reading,

Peace & Love.

Kyle.