adventures in dysthymia

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Room

Come night, I will too often go
To gaze beyond my window's glow;
Into another realm I peer,
Upon a world that I fear,
Into the darkness I must know.

I am, perhaps, drawn from a book,
From quiet study in some nook,
Or from the comfort of my bed
To that dark glass I'm once more led,
I'm once more called to blindly look.

The shelter of my empty room,
The safety of its changless gloom,
Speaks to me of all that I lack,
The fears that ever hold me back,
But none can live within a tomb.

I rest my head, I close my eyes,
I tell myself my newest lies,
Yet night brings hidden thoughts to me,
Temptation whispers come and be;
The darkness calls, no one replies.

Stephen Brooke ©1969

(some original draft from 1966)

A reeeeally old poem I found while going through yet more of my stuff on bits and scraps of paper (quite probably the last of the old stuff to get sorted out and put into digital form). Wrote this when I was 19, with some of the ideas and words going back earlier. Of course, there have been the revisions and rewrites since but the basics remain. It's pretty juvenile and certainly trite.

Well, the last couple days the internet has been practically inaccessible. I've been able to do no more than check my main email boxes -- no Face Book, no discussion boards, etc. Just when it seemed to be getting back to normal, too!

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