"In the end, it's not going to matter how many breaths you took, but how many moments took your breath away." -Shing Xiong *** "Do not go where the path may lead; instead where there is no path and leave a trail." -Ralph Waldo Emerson *** "Truly great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave, and impossible to forget." -G. Randolf *** "We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us." -E.M. Forster *** "Imagnination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited, imagination encircles the world." -Albert Einstein *** Defintion of Suburbia: A place where they cut down trees and name streets after them. -(Unknown, found on sticker) :p *** "A lie goes halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on." -Winston Churchill***"Love is the irresistible desire to be desired irresistibly." -Louis Ginsberg ***"All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware." -Martin Buber

Friday, February 24, 2012

Rooms (a poem)

Written February 22nd, 2012
Music drifts down the halls
Piano crescendos and saxophone solos
Electric guitar screams and soft flute dreams
All spinning down the corridors
Inviting passerby to dance

One can listen in the lounge
A bright cozy room with plush rugs
Vivid expressionist paintings line the walls
By the soft warm hearth she can socialize
Or dance to the tunes drifting in from the halls

Upstairs is a master bedroom
Glass doors open upon a balcony with a view
Of sprawling woodlands, bathed in the light of the moon
Here candlelight flickers and desires run free
The bed sweetly beckons to her and her love

Farther down at the end of the hall
Resides a library where music cannot be heard
The bookshelves are many, wide and tall
Everything has a layer of dust, the smell of pages and musk
Here she spends hours among the books, her mind far away

And then there is the basement
That no one talks about
A twisted, secret black dungeon
Full of fear and sorrow and doubt
She has not descended in a long time now

Perhaps the room she favors most
Is the small study with bay windows
Facing the great thunderous mountains with beauty to boast
The desk is covered in papers and pens
And a mug of cocoa steams on the window sill

The house is a great big place
With rooms worn from foot traffic
And secret quiet alcoves only for her
Places for music and mirth, places for solitude and reflection
And even some hidden rooms she has yet to discover

A special thanks to the Booksie user Kariss, who lended me inspiration to write this after reading her piece "Portrait of My Heart". I liked the comparison she used between rooms and her heart, and decided I wanted to explore the rooms of my own heart in this way. I don't think my rendition is as good as hers.