Into My Own Privacy....
i do not wish that you become a part of me
like light to my room
i do not need any
i thrive in the comfort of my own darkness
with an option
whether to partake with light
or not
i am but a room with a little space
a small bed enough for my arms and legs
just enough
for my sleep,
i destroyed the ceiling
so i can see the
stars
i closed the windows and doors
so i cannot be
with anybody
i do not wish you to stay and be friendly
i like to enjoy how is it to be unfriendly
in some
moments where i cherish my own privacy
the silence of the paper in cohort with the pen
that romance with words and symbols
and in between thoughts, the precious solitude of
not being with anyone,
i am both the deserting and the deserted.
it's a certain stage and i want more of it
without all of you, i have this gift of thought.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Straight Jacket
i am trying to shape
a world
with my own private thoughts
away from the mob
i am situating myself in a room
on closed doors and closed windows
except the light that i allow to enter
on glassy blocks
the walls will always be there
air comes through the ceiling
on tiny holes
i tried to forget viewing the stars
i must survive even without the light of the moon
it is less romantic
and i am no lunatic
but then she hints on what am i
saying: the fish is meant for the sea
the dog is always meant for a walk
the sparrow cannot live without flying on its wings
and she asks me: will you just be a poet?
or will you be the man for the seasons?
before she left, she left a note stuck on the fridge
magnetically: you are more than the fish, the sparrow, the dog
must i be? i sleep tightly like a straitjacket.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Defining The Kind Of Silence He Needs
it is like the silence of an empty room
not keeping anything
not holding
not gripping hands
or gnashing teeth
the windows are not closed
or the doors
to keep a hounding silence
it is a silence with still air
you hear me breathing in
and out
of my nostrils
nothing kept like grudges
nothing hidden like
some disappointments
it is the silence that heals
that gathers strength
the silence of your gratitude
the silence that rests
the silence
of the soul in solitude
the silence of peace
one that looks out
to the grandeur yet to come
one that waits patiently
the silence of
glory
godlike
humane, and seeks to understand
the one that drives
confusion away
like a bird
nesting its eggs for days
on a stable branch
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One Evening
one evening because the walls of the room
are shrinking,
feeling as if i will be crushed by its four corners,
i finally decided to close the windows and open the
door to try to see if there are stars outside
and if the stars can relieve me from such a
claustrophobic impending death,
i step out into the open and sleep on the grass
to feel the coldness of the earth
i lay my body my arms stretched as far as my hands
can do in creating distance between my feet and my
center of gravity,
what i see is a dark sky and infinite space
i feel like a grain of sand spilling from a giant palm
i agree
i am insignificant
that room becomes nothing compared to the fear
of incomprehensible choices
an ocean of freedom
continental responsibility
i feel so drunk drinking too much space from a glass of my gaze
to this vast universe
nauseous still
i stand back to regain my composure
i go back inside the room
and then the wind howled
outside like an angry master
back to the comfort of my blanket
i promise myself a good sleep.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In My Room
I stand alone and watch the clock
I only wait for it to stop
And in the room locked up inside me
The cutout magazines remind me
I sit and wait alone in my room
And in my room against the wall
There is picture very small
A photograph I took some years ago
It shows a picture of the room I know
I sit and wait alone in my room
Chorus
The walls are white and in the night
The room is lit by electric light
I stand and watch the clock
I only wait for it to stop
The doors are shut and all the windows lock
The only sound is from the clock
I sit and wait alone in my room
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Yaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In My Room
I stand alone and watch the clock
I only wait for it to stop
And in the room locked up inside me
The cutout magazines remind me
I sit and wait alone in my room
And in my room against the wall
There is picture very small
A photograph I took some years ago
It shows a picture of the room I know
I sit and wait alone in my room
Chorus
The walls are white and in the night
The room is lit by electric light
I stand and watch the clock
I only wait for it to stop
The doors are shut and all the windows lock
The only sound is from the clock
I sit and wait alone in my room
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Yaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inside The Room....
we are only two
inside the room
later
we shall mislead
them into
thinking that
we are only
one
we are one now
inside the
room with closed
windows
and locked doors
and they
want to hear the
sound of
the bed
or the floor
we are one now
and you tell me
that
but then
i am not asleep
like the one
at the sky
hanging like a
lone star
still feeling the
vast emptiness
of this space
between us
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Marriage
Marriage for Esme began as a wide open room
with windows that let in the sunshine
and curtains so light and airy
they floated on the breeze.
Her husband's blue eyes would sparkle
with just a hint of mischief
and fun that they intrigued her,
made him special.
Then in the second year on her birthday
it seemed the room had grown dusty,
the curtains seemed dull,
the windows small.
And in the third year, without a doubt
the sun had gone down on her
and the room held a chill
like her aching heart.
By the fifth year, she'd aged,
her eyes had shadows, her skin had paled
and the room seemed small
with no windows at all.
She had shriveled, was withdrawn,
she'd sit in the corner of the room humming,
rocking back and forth, back and forth,
back and forth........
poem by Ruth Walters
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Comforting Love
Love is God’s Gift to you and me,
Nothing to learn, nothing to see
An open heart is all we need
To activate His Light-Seed
Nurture, cherish this precious gift
Pray for a day that darkness lifts
Love is truth in a world of lies
The only comfort when one dies
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Rocket Science
My little boy once asked me
"Mummy, what is space?
Is it all just empty? "
I looked into his face.
I hesitated somewhat
before I gave reply
for I am not a scholar
and that is rocket science.
My answer was as follows,
you may not agree,
but my little boy was satisfied
and comforted by me.
I told him "there are moons,
stars and comets too,
but we just cannot see them
from our sitting room.
If we could switch a light on,
in space, just like at home,
We might see wondrous things,
but, for now, we just don't know.
Imagine for a moment
in this room, right where we are
A light bulb is the sun
and we are all the stars.
If we turn out the light
there's nothing we can see,
but when we turn it on again,
we see many things.
I often think that space
is like our pitch black room,
and one day men will light it
and it may be quite soon! "
My little boy looked up
at the big night sky outside
and said, "I understand now mum"
and rubbed his sleepy eyes.
I really hope I satisfied
his curiosity and one day
when he's grown up
he'll explain it all to me.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Secrets Of The Loving Person
the room where you sleep
does not take hold of you
your bed cannot be part of your skin
and your windows are nothing but
the ordinary closing and opening
of your day
you like a door that opens
to nowhere
you have diamonds in your hands
you spread them
in the garden and you see
how they all glitter for a while
darkness folds and
light of another day opens
you take a walk and whistle
you don't remember the color of the blanket
you forget what warmth was there on that bed
you do not care whether the windows are closed or open
you move to another house
and tell your stories all over again
there is no blink in your eyes
there is no stammering in your tongue
you do not tell them what you love
there are no hands too familiar to hold you back
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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No Attachments
the room where you sleep
does not take hold of you
your bed cannot be part of your skin
and your windows are nothing but
the ordinary closing and opening
of your day
you like a door that opens
to nowhere
you have diamonds in your hands
you spread them
in the garden and you see
how they all glitter for a while
darkness folds and
light of another day opens
you take a walk and whistle
you don't remember the color of the blanket
you forget what warmth was there on that bed
you do not care whether the windows are closed or open
you move to another house
and tell your stories all over again
there is no blink in your eyes
there is no stammering in your tongue
you do not tell them what you love
there are no hands too familiar to hold you back
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dark Light Dark
Living nightmare awake
Solitude unyielding
Forsaken forgotten
Cannot sleep
Cannot dream
Reprieve darkness
Praying sleep
Praying dream
Awake prisoned darkness
Time passes never light
Darkness consuming
Broken lost
Waiting sleep
Waiting dream
Light draws near
Light appears
Shineth deliverance
Warm glimmer hope
Darkness retreats
Happiness surfaces
Thorns gone
Pain fades
Shelter amidst light
Dream envelopes cherish
Dream breaks shattered
Awaken again darkness
Scream pain again
Darkness spinning ruling
Light blackened
poem by GMS Pinafore
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How to get daytime sleep
As the night disappeared
So did my tiredness
The darkness was traded
For the sunshine
I was thinking to my self
I know im gonna pay for this
In the long run
Staying up all night
Has been fun
But when its time to get up
My awakeness is gonna
Want to run
Its gonna be hard to sleep
Now because of the sun
And if I try to stay up all day
My body is gonna be done
No need to fight
I should just let this
Sleep process begin
Eyes closed
And arms folded
Will defintely have
Sleep granted
A dark room
comfortable bed
And cozzy room
Will defintely give you
The sleep that you need
poem by Jaycee Wilkerson
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Blade Of Darkness
I am shut down in my own heart,
And all its little doors are closed to me,
I am alone with my thoughts,
Living in my world of silence and melancoly.
It is a world of darkness,
Where hope tries to break in,
There is but a glimmer of light to warm up my soul,
As long as light exists, there is hope for me.
Blade of darkness is tearing up my heart into pieces,
Its depth and edge are so grievous to me,
You are the light that embraces my darkness,
As long as you exist, there is happiness for me.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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The House Of Dust: Part 03: 06: Portrait Of One Dead
This is the house. On one side there is darkness,
On one side there is light.
Into the darkness you may lift your lanterns—
O, any number—it will still be night.
And here are echoing stairs to lead you downward
To long sonorous halls.
And here is spring forever at these windows,
With roses on the walls.
This is her room. On one side there is music—
On one side not a sound.
At one step she could move from love to silence,
Feel myriad darkness coiling round.
And here are balconies from which she heard you,
Your steady footsteps on the stair.
And here the glass in which she saw your shadow
As she unbound her hair.
Here is the room—with ghostly walls dissolving—
The twilight room in which she called you 'lover';
And the floorless room in which she called you 'friend.'
So many times, in doubt, she ran between them!—
Through windy corridors of darkening end.
Here she could stand with one dim light above her
And hear far music, like a sea in caverns,
Murmur away at hollowed walls of stone.
And here, in a roofless room where it was raining,
She bore the patient sorrow of rain alone.
Your words were walls which suddenly froze around her.
Your words were windows,—large enough for moonlight,
Too small to let her through.
Your letters—fragrant cloisters faint with music.
The music that assuaged her there was you.
How many times she heard your step ascending
Yet never saw your face!
She heard them turn again, ring slowly fainter,
Till silence swept the place.
Why had you gone? . . . The door, perhaps, mistaken . . .
You would go elsewhere. The deep walls were shaken.
A certain rose-leaf—sent without intention—
Became, with time, a woven web of fire—
She wore it, and was warm.
A certain hurried glance, let fall at parting,
Became, with time, the flashings of a storm.
Yet, there was nothing asked, no hint to tell you
Of secret idols carved in secret chambers
From all you did and said.
Nothing was done, until at last she knew you.
Nothing was known, till, somehow, she was dead.
How did she die?—You say, she died of poison.
Simple and swift. And much to be regretted.
You did not see her pass
So many thousand times from light to darkness,
Pausing so many times before her glass;
You did not see how many times she hurried
To lean from certain windows, vainly hoping,
Passionate still for beauty, remembered spring.
You did not know how long she clung to music,
You did not hear her sing.
Did she, then, make the choice, and step out bravely
From sound to silence—close, herself, those windows?
Or was it true, instead,
That darkness moved,—for once,—and so possessed her? . . .
We'll never know, you say, for she is dead.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Reflecting Upon A Series Of Experiences For This Day.....
The experience has always been
a
shaping and reshaping seemingly without end
like a journey to a horizon that has no limit to the exhaustion of the eyes.
It will always be an invention, and reinvention,
like having to hope for hope because
there is nothing good
happening to
life, it is like looking at a room, sitting on a sofa,
staring at the ceiling, looking beyond the glass window by your side,
and always asking, why is this room always unfinished,
this house always a question of
why? and for all we know, we fail to look at our own feet,
to reflect our eyes on the mirror and
assure ourselves that the hours actually also know how to wait
for answers,
actually, when i look at myself, i look at a stranger,
but i know the name of course, but there is more beyond to this name,
there is something speaking but never really known
something inside us, that is with us, but detached, talking with all honesty, saying
'You are wrong! There is something that you need to correct! '
Tell her, do not be afraid, Go! Go!
This is divided self, inside it, in this chest, there are small cabinets,
more doors, more windows, and endless tunnel without light.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Darkness
For sometime I’ve been living by myself
and as usual I close the windows at night.
I was sitting on the bed reading a letter
when something darkened the light.
My immediate thought was a power surge
and the house was on a reduced supply,
but when I looked up at the ceiling light
I just couldn’t believe my eyes.
So much so, I rubbed them,
and hoped that it wasn’t there,
but it was, hovering above me
like a mist hanging in the air.
I’d never seen anything like it,
from nowhere it came into sight.
An expanding layer of darkness
that was squeezing out the light.
It had now covered the ceiling
and was edging down the walls.
My breathing wasn’t helping,
as my inhaler began to stall.
I could feel and hear my heart beating;
fear drove me towards the open door.
As my fingers touched the doors handle
its sudden slamming shook the floor.
If it touched me what would happen?
Would I be blanked out like the light?
I stumbled flicking off the light switch,
and with it went the cause of my fright.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Cold Dark Room
i sit alone
in this cold dark room
no windows
no doors
icy cold air
i sit alone
in this cold dark room
i live alone
in this cold dark room
no family
no friends
no life to share
i live alone
in this cold dark room
i stay alone
in this cold dark room
no voices
no sounds
no one does care
i stay alone
in this cold dark room
i sit alone
in this cold dark room
no way out
no way in
but i dont care
i sit alone
in this cold dark room
i live alone
in this cold dark room
in my mind
in my world
i dont want to share
i stay alone
in this cold dark room
i stay alone
in this cold dark room
because
it's easier that way
poem by Austin Beyer
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Cold Dark..
I sit alone
In this cold dark room
No windows no doors
Just icy cold air
I live alone
In this cold dark room
No family no friends
Just loneliness to share
I stay alone
In this cold dark room
No voices no sounds
Just nobody to care
I probe alone
In this cold dark room
In my mind in my world
Just a room filled with despair
I roam alone
In this cold dark room
No way in no way out
Just a worn but rigid snare
I rust alone
In this cold dark room
Not because there is no other way
Just because its easier that way....
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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I sit alone...
I sit alone
In this cold dark room
No windows no doors
Just icy cold air
I live alone
In this cold dark room
No family no friends
Just loneliness to share
I stay alone
In this cold dark room
No voices no sounds
Just nobody to care
I probe alone
In this cold dark room
In my mind in my world
Just a room filled with despair
I roam alone
In this cold dark room
No way in no way out
Just a worn but rigid snare
I rust alone
In this cold dark room
Not because there is no other way
Just because its easier that way....
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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