I hide within a tinselled dream,
locked within a dark room that is the memory of yet another dream,
with no light to guide just a gilded hope that there is a better.
Am I a faded painting,
a crumbling mask of self pity, a stuccuto fortitude.
Baggy seams of hoplessness buffering without purpose,
frame askew.
I am tired of the lies...
But they tire not of me.
And play games with my confusion,
while sitting in the chair my father left behind,
when he fled the emptiness.
I think I'll sleep now,
and perhaps,
when I awake,
I'll be you.
A contest entry
- Fall's Image Prompt by Cynthia Gaines.
2400 points, ended November 8, 20 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
-
How very interesting, slipping inside the mind of the philosopher, to find his doubts and worries, not unlike our own... well-done!
Lita
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You really don't wanna be me...
Thank you for your thought-provoking entry. My favorites lines are these:
"I am tired of the lies...
But they tire not of me.
And play games with my confusion,"
which reminded me of something I heard just the other day: "Confusion will be my epitaph" -King Crimson; as well as your lines:
"I hide within a tinselled dream,
locked within a dark room that is the memory of yet another dream,
with no light to guide just a gilded hope that there is a better."
remind me not only of a carnival house of hideous mirrors, but another quote, "Every moment of light and dark is a miracle." -Walt Whitman. Good luck in the contest!! Take care...
Peace,
Cyn
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hmmm,, very interesting... but i loved it ...
I hide within a tinselled dream,
locked within a dark room that is the memory of yet another dream,
this part was cool and the first line of the next stanza is good too
great job!! :]]
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