Rooms (a poem)

Rooms

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

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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.