Free from time

Time ticking on the wall,
the sound penetrating her white skin
blood pumping louder than time in her ears
deafening her to the outside of herself,
straining green eyes skim,
a warn copy of “Gatsby”
a hint of sawdust seeping from the cover.

A peculiar shaped red armchair surrounds
her small, limp body
looming ahead, a cold fireplace, set in stone,

seeming to claim the attention of the room
shyly sitting sofas star at each other
forming a path for her to mossy between
darkness of night gazes in the large beveled glass windows
with curtains drawn,

observing her, feeling for her
the two large windows concur with the night,
repressing the boastful fireplace steadfast
for her not to be put down from its size.

one lamp
casting a gloomy haze in corners
words faded in dim light
offer a gateway to freedom,
from the chains of her body
she frolics to the blue water in a white dress
to be free from the cold deadness of herself





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Mickey mouse said...
Oct. 8, 2011 at 11:41 pm
Loved your other poem. I feel bad about hitting the wrong star when rating. Keep writing,
 
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