White
These stark and sterile corridors,
These immaculate walls and floors
Of lambent amnesia and senile senses
Could only beckon the onset of oblivion
In these gray rooms, the shade of the sun
Cannot fecundate the insensate gloom
Our slivers linger on like echoes of chortles
And simpering rolls of tears amidst the smoke
The wind howls through the windows
And the forgetful floor and gregarious fortifications
Basked into its inebriated brawl dumbly
Forgetting the lofty pillars that once surrounds me
The shadow mused the prancing beacons
And confound it to the ephemeral joie de vivre
Because there is nothing left to be done
But to mourn in the incarceration of the self
I apologize for ripping the golden manacles
And for bleeding from its sharp and gelid grip
And for washing the streak of sunlight
That plastered the lackadaisical walls
The guilt oppresses me, far more than oblivion
Because I love who we were, I miss who we were
But we will never be complete again
In a house of white-phantom corridors
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
Promises
Your promise is sound like a niece,
Upstairs the rooms are plenty,
The reward compares to Peace,
I and you are lovable and a discovery.
My complaint subdues your walls
As they crumble and thud to the floors,
Risks are many in these rooms of balls,
A craft of heaven lines the corridors.
May promises keep for some elegant time,
With love I guarantee the house no grime.
poem by Naveed Akram
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No More Echoes.
Two mental breakdowns
In as many years;
The ECT, she
Knows too well; the dark
Corridors; the sharp
Broken mirrors, all
Reflecting different
Selves; the slashed wrist;
Bath-almost-drowning
Business; the white
Coated nurse and docs
And the tricks up their
Long thin sleeves; and the
Emptiness inside
With the long slow fall
Into that so long
Awaited and wished for
Oblivion and
No more echoes from
The sad ghostly dead.
poem by Terry Collett
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Pax Modern
Away from fading windows
sealed deep within the efficient building
empty chairs wait.
Gleaming floors echo
friends laughing
hello and
goodbye,
but here I sit
alone.
The sun set without me tonight.
Through long corridors I watched
as slit windows softly glowed
with withered passion.
But night rises suddenly!
Night is a fast clock,
firing rounds of morning, tomorrow, next week,
next year
into my defenseless heart!
Night is a rude guest,
an expected surprise.
But where is God?
In this comfortable cave
bright, sterile altars serve
quick
convenient offerings.
No squalor of crucifixion here!
These are painless rooms,
climate controlled,
self-satisfied.
My soul dozes.
From troubling dreams
of resurrection
beige walls lull me
to dubious peace.
poem by Steven Federle
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Walls Of Silent
WALLS OF SILENT
What if walls could talk what would they say?
Along the walls they walk
Sputtering words every day
In boardrooms
In school hallways
Hotels walls
And shopping malls
In Elevators
Hospital corridors
Office walls
Tenement halls
And bedroom walls
Some words never to been mention again
Other words that take to the air ways
Walls of silent’s
What would they say…
poem by Paul Klobusicky
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Sullen Girl
Days like this, I dont know what to do with myself.
All day - and all night.
I wander the halls along the walls and under my breath.
I say to myself.
I need fuel - to take flight -
And theres too much going on.
But its calm under the waves, in the blue of my oblivion.
Under the waves in the blue of my oblivion.
Is that why they call me a sullen girl - sullen girl.
The dont know I used to sail the deep and tranquil sea.
But he washed me shore and he took my pearl -
And left an empty shell of me.
And theres too much going on.
But its calm under the waves, in the blue of my oblivion.
Under the waves in the blue of my oblivion.
Under the waves in the blue of my oblivion.
Its calm under the waves in the blue of my oblivion.
song performed by by Fiona Apple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Labyrinth
It descried me,
The sleeping tiger's fang
Hampering my neck,
And the endless brunt
And the plastered smile
Shrouding the perdition
Thawed with the white snow
As stark as amnesia
Where am I
Amidst your indifferent stares?
Cloy me again
And pilfer my vision
You are my adamant eyes
Sunken in delusion.
It caught me
The lacquer compassion
And the myopic acceptance
Chafing the fortified resistance
To undrape the bronze skin
And reveal the gaunt soul
Shackled inside a den
Of brazen yearning
And of unabashed fears
And here, at the floor
Of a vale I cannot fathom
Your touch still lingers
And it hurts with a pain
More immense
Than you'll ever unravel
As you graze the engraved
Scars and dilapidations;
These open wounds
Bathed in salt,
I felt the bleak fate
Of solitude bursting
Into evanescence
And the wallflowers
Weren't the only one
Crying with me
But then again
It sank to where
Everything is girdled:
The cul-de-sac of this
Ephemeral labyrinth
These emptied chasms
Inside of me
Contains your ghosts
And they will forever saunter
The dark limbo
Of its ornate alleys
And my eyes will
Grow dark as oil
Darker than
Oblivion
So I can keep you
Like a secret
In the dark
Until one day
I shall shrivel
From incinerating.
poem by Norman Santos
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Shared Loneliness
A house is empty if you're alone.
Its rooms are too quiet for it's known
loneliness too, just like you.
It echoes with hollowness
and creaks with despair
for the lone figure it houses
has no one to share
its rooms.
It hears the steps of the solitary one.
It hears the sighs that weigh like a ton
on its floors and walls
where the sadness crawls.
It longs to be filled
with conversational tones
filling up its rooms.
The bedroom is lonely
and the living room too.
The kitchen has a setting for one
and only one cup of coffee to brew.
These rooms can house all of the pain
that lonesomeness brings and still remain
loyal to the one who's alone.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Jailhouse Perdition
The sun lingers away
from the sieves of your cellar
and every shadow shunned
the howls inside your cave
The echolalia of your heart
draped in surfeit agony
daunting the leonine waves
reaching your flimsy shores
You wrote forlorn telegrams
on your sooty walls
and kept on reminding yourself
how it feels to be abandoned
You confabulated with the ceiling,
traipsed and haggled with the floor,
but you never sought for the keys
to break your incarceration
Because you are the warden,
the prisoner, the gloom
that constitutes this debacle
of your twilit perdition.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Stairs
In a room above a busy street
The echoes of a life
The fragments and the accidents
Separated by incidents
Listened to by the walls
We share the same spaces
Repeated in the corridors
Performing the same movements
Storey to storey
Building to building
Street to street
We pass each other on the stairs
Storey to storey
Building to building
Street to street
We pass each other on the stairs
Listened to by the walls
We share the same spaces
Repeated in the corridors
Performing the same movements
The nature of your tragedy
Is chained around your neck
Do you lead or are you led
Are u sure that you dont care
There are reasons here to give your life
And follow in your way
The passion lives to keep your faith
Though all are different all are great
Climbing as we fall
We dare to hold on to our fate
And steal away our destiny
To catch ourselves with quiet grace
Storey to storey
Building to building
Street to street
We pass each other on the stairs
Listened to by the walls
We share the same spaces
Repeated in the corridors
Performing the same movements
Storey to storey
Building to building
Street to street
We pass each other on the stairs
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Backyard Brawl
Got a cut on my thigh, got a nail in my eye
And I'm bleedin' all over the wall
Got a barbed wire bat and a dude on the mat
Ain't getting up soon at all
Got a head full of rage and a belly full of hate
I'm the neighborhood legend that just can't wait
For the backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Don't matter who you are, don't matter what color
Brown or white'll do
But if you're yellow you'll be covered in red
A whole lotta black and blue
Jump off the trailer in a pile full o' guys
Scratching and kicking and pulverized
For the backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Only got six teeth but three of those
Are sharp enough to bite off your nose
At the backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
[Spoken:]
You think you're so tough
You talkin' to me?
You're mine
Come on, let's go
Come on stitches...
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Prison of Solitude
A prison of solitude
To which I am thrown
The empty walls and rooms
The soundless corridors
The drawn-out night
What madness grows here
That no other does see
How lonely I find
The sleepless bed
The loveless air
The void of conversation
The dying romance of the candle
This isolation
This so complete nothingness
I am kept at distance
From a world I do not know
In this place of madness
A prison of solitude
To which I have been thrown
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Florence Nightingale
UPON the whitewashed walls
A woman's shadow falls,
A woman walketh o'er the darksome floors.
A soft, angelic smile
Lighteth her face the while,
In passing through the dismal corridors.
And now and then there slips
A word from out her lips,
More sweet and grateful to those listening ears
Than the most plaintive tale
Of the sad nightingale,
Whose name and tenderness this woman bears.
Her presence in the room
Of agony and gloom,
No fretful murmurs, no coarse words profane;
For while she standeth there,
All words are hushed save prayer;
She seems God's angel weeping o'er man's pain.
And some of them arise,
With eager, tearful eyes,
From off their couch to see her passing by.
Some, e'en too weak for this,
Can only stoop and kiss
Her shadow, and fall back content to die.
No monument of stone
Needs this heroic one,—
Her name is graven on each noble heart;
And in all after years
Her praise will be the tears
Which at that name from quivering lids will start.
And those who live not now,
To see the sainted brow,
And the angelic smile before it flits for aye,
They in the future age
Will kiss the storied page
Whereon the shadow of her life will lie.
poem by Emma Lazarus
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At Night With The Rain
i have closed the doors
and the windows
and let go the curtains
touching the floors
i close my eyes and listen
to the rain
i dream of stars
i miss the moon
the walls close on in me
beyond the glass windows
to the sea
i hear the sad calls of the
night
outside the trees are blown
the black cat stares at me
and then some tears
begin to fall
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Where White Walls Meet On Painted Cracks
Where white walls meet on painted cracks,
and tears still streak the face of dawn.
Where trouble lies and hopes abound
in places lost long ago.
Wounded souls meet, and sit, and stare
and condolences are bitter words to speak.
An empty house stands,
empty, save for the prisoners within its weary walls.
Walls of words and hopes and lies,
of stone they weigh still more.
The house that died
An Empty house
An era bygone
Fragrant shadows
Echoes mourn
Smiles and tears
Joyous... morbid
Swift emotions
Of hues myriad
They say we bury
Our emotions alive
And forget in a hurry
But they live and thrive
This house... it lives
Through Echoes and smells
Stored memories behind its walls
Mystic house... story unfurls
A memory for every one who lived
Every single sigh they heaved
A voice whispers to tell the tale
Every memory has a smell
A ball room...under keys and lock
Wooden floor
Smells of rose and holy hock
Symphony rings
True to the core
Dining room
With its sounds
Clatter of spoons
“Cheers”...doing rounds
Nursery room
Giggling smiles
Whispering winds
On broken tiles
A chimney stands
Gathering soot
Smell of fire
Burning wood
And the kitchen
The lover’s nook
For the butler and the cook
Echoes of ladle
Hitting the pan
Boiling pot
And smoking can
A bed room smells of
Shadow and light
Echoes of love talks
Of the passionate lusty nights
The house that died
To live once more
Through smell’s portal and echoes door
Is calling out to you!
poem by Saurabh Som
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An Afternoon
when they all leave
and you are left all alone by yourself
you reflect upon the shape of the wall
you check if it has gained
a little length
whether it has widened
a few inches
for all the days gone by
unnoticed
you stare upon the walls around you
you check on your nails
you bite one
it tastes salty
there is this bitterness in your heart
you grope for a word
to describe it
in one setting
there is something that screams
you silence it
you stand and close the door and leave
you walk along the silent corridors
you think
what if this darkness goes on and on
what if this bitterness continues
day by day
what if the walls grow to become this big house
and you are inside it
not finding anymore
any door any window
what if?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sala
A quaint sepia photograph reckons
Of my deceased old grandparents
In their cordial nuptial palpably soaked
And cloaked in God's veil and covenant
It perishes amongst the ghastly cobwebs
And the dusts in the wailing lifelessness
Of the immodest and muted living room
And in my somnolent and castrated vision
It had painted another mawkish picture,
A concrete memoire of the absence
Of love, of death, and of love in death
So I refocused on the sala instead
With the scraped pastel wallpapers
Toppling on the cold floor parquet
A catastrophic finagling that reveals
The abused skin of my genuine home:
The arms of acquiesced oblivion
Sprawling on the threadbare divan
And watching the midnight sitcoms
With my levity, and purging the ecstasy
Of my the escape in late night episodes;
Cradling my aversion and diversion
To dance with the perfidious moonlight;
Or read the hideous diffidence in my poetries
To the overwhelming nonchalance of the sparrows
Oblivion is here, in this juncture of the sala,
Furnished with such ludicrous fantasies
Almost accenting my brusque reality
That I sew upon my lifelong starvation
For love, for death, for love in death
For romance, for heaven, for that which will never
And the conservative chandelier was dimmed
From the stark brightness of the glacial fire
Burning in the patios of my forlorn mire
Fluttering with the barricading shades
Of these heavy carnation pink curtains
Like a colossal shadow in the dark
A surreptitious phantom lurking
And scheming on its feet, to devour
My harried refuge in this sala
Oblivion, it could be too arresting
That the lampshades thawed in fragments
Oblivion could be bountiful in fragments
But then again, it could probably be not,
Oblivion could be harsh; it could be very harsh,
When your oblivion is a puncturing memory
That only ensued in the insipidness of the sala
Not on its dark corner nor on its garish floor
Rather, in the sala where you are alone
But fixated with the company of a scent
Similar to the morning dews that never came.
poem by Norman Santos
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I Empire State of Mind
In the surging rustles of the void vesper
Gallantly burning a svelte bridge to dawn away
From the briskly chortles of the blight
Coruscation of these stellar's blithe
Slumbering cellars toppled to unfurl
The virulent fangs caressing the tongue
And gnawing at the grin sliced upon;
Ballasting on an eternal trepidation— a hapless vie
In the protracted skyline gallops
A treachery more surreptitious than
The grip of the city walls in your eyes
And the lofty sears of rooftops reveals
Its buried pillars saliently looming
And swaying with the silent quakes
Of the flickering wisps of lights
Above the shrouded sky and reticent sighs
That casts a casket and extemporizes a requiem
For the lattices of the shadows where the chortles
Are sifted and filtered from the devoid exuberance
And in the abstracted transition of the montage
A golden eye steadfast unabashed
Feigning an I empire state of mind
The city melting down his throat,
Seeping out his lungs and plummeting
With the cinders and ash ousted
By the dark arch on his aching lips
And in his lack of sleep is the truant
Empire escalating and inflating as
The heaving breaths does.
poem by Norman Santos
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Walls
Walls of stone and walls of brick,
Some walls thin and some walls thick,
Walls so high and walls so low,
Walls to hide and walls to show.
Walls quite short and walls quite tall,
Some walls, last well, some walls fall,
Walls for comfort, walls of hate,
Walls for security, walls ornate.
Some as a barricade, some to support,
Walls of wood and walls of iron wrought,
Walls as a barrier, walls to enclose,
Some are to sit on, some to lean and doze.
Walls we build ourselves, these aren't good,
Walls for privacy, walls that have stood,
So many years through weather foul or fine,
Walls, that are yours, walls that are mine.
Brick by brick they are built to last,
Whether built now or in the past,
They shelter us from so many things,
And shield us from whatever this life brings.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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No Name #3
We arrived too late
Our mouths were opening
I turned off the light
So come on night
You're a witness you
You've seen me interrupt
A good old fashioned fight
So come on night
Everyone is gone
Home to oblivion
Home to oblivion
Home to oblivion
Watched the dying day
Blushing in the sky
Everyone is uptight
So come on night
Everyone is gone
Home to oblivion
Home to oblivion
Home to oblivion
I know we're not
Illegitimate
In our hearing
So come on
So come on night
song performed by by Elliott Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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