Memory of the Quiet Room

Behind the creaking door,
Down into the dark,
Where that place was once a home.

The stairs met a wall,
An tea lights were placed.
As an unintentional shrine.

Here we kept it,
That book of shadows
Wire bound and always open.

We bragged of our shames,
Our private betrayals,
Our petty conquests of the flesh.

So proud as we sowed our way,
Through the great mediocrates,
Of our young lives.

Moments of recklessness,
Written down for posterity,
Moments we later decided to forget.

That record of our age of triumphs,
We since ordered burned,
This was its final secret.


2 thoughts on “Memory of the Quiet Room

  1. There is a great deal of amazing imagery going on in this poem which captures all of those amazing feelings. I applaud the use of good pacing and creative wordplay to make this story come alive.

    • Thank you. I only write the occasional poem and, I always feel they are fairly ham-handed. I am very glad when I find someone who appreciates any of those pieces.

      Thanks for taking the time to read it and comment. I love getting feedback from others.

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