Dark Rooms


In the father’s bag of lackluster delights.

Photos, oh so still, of kindness and flowered sprites.

Hand picked pixels for a child’s plight.

Thus, a student, I became.

Chiseled out of a teachers harsh lessons.

Everything beyond the four hollowed doors were overcast by rain.

Infantile in thought, somehow, beauty remained.

 

In the age of living dangerously,

I aspired to hold the paper cut art…to his throat.

It was only within my black and white discoveries…

that I witnessed…intermittently, madness and hatred…

occasionally transcend.

Into a world of what is conceived…

and, what is best left for pretend.

 

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s