This Room

In this room, is one of four walls
Where there once contained
A great picture window
I would stare as the sun shone through
At the beauty beyond each pane
There was life on the other side
And a life on this side
One day a bird, unknowing, unseeing
Crashed into the window
I watched as it lay twitching
Wing bent, neck broken
The last moments as it clung to life
Given to me, to remember
In this I keep a vague memory
Of someone’s laughter
On the other side of the window
Looking in
Once so bright and clean
I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else
Until dark and screaming
There was nowhere else
The laughter and the screams would not cease
So, I boarded up the window, painted over
Ignoring the spilled things, littering the floor
Like so many dead flies
On a Wednesday afternoon
Where I sit, staring at the blank wall
As the hours give way
To the fading, cracked, peeling paint
This room elicits no response
As it’s quiet here, now, always
Deaf ears absorb each plea
I manage to whisper, forsaken prayers
Bludgeoned against my wall, lie broken
Atop the days I have lost, given
To this solitude, a sacrifice in hiding
From the beauty that mocks
On the other side of broken things


  1. You’ve excelled yourself with this one, River. There’s a film in here somewhere, with such strong imagery and a heart-breaking narrative – it’s really quite cinematic. As ever, your words are strikingly well grafted together. I love ‘forsaken prayers bludgeoned against my wall’ (who among us won’t identify with that?) and ‘the beauty that mocks on the other side of broken things’. You have a true gift. 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I do admire your ability to go back to the dark corners of your mind and find inspiration there to create such well-described images. It’s absolutely stunning to see them and in a way live in this gothic world. Great job, Commander Dixon. I expected nothing less from a talented man you are.

    PS: I mentioned you here, so if you have the time to respond, I’d be on my marry.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thanks, friend. And yeah, I saw your post and was ignoring your question. You should know by now I expect nothing from you and you shouldn’t feel obligated in any way to do anything for me. Focus on what you need to do to get where you want to be and don’t waste a thought on owing me anything.

      Liked by 2 people

      1. Same here. And that could be an even longer wait. One day. One day. Thank you for being so understanding and supportive. I’m really honored to call you my friend. I just want you to know that.

        Liked by 2 people

  3. River your writing is excellent, this is a Brilliant Story! So much imagery to unfold.
    I will once again attempt commenting on this wonderful creative piece.
    The boarding of window keeps out the light. A sign of imprisonment of not wanting to face the other side. Trapped by the things we don’t want to face. The boards are like a bandage on an open wound that has been treated. Infection can set in, it can spread like a cancer affecting the whole body. Mental , Physical, Spiritual Challenges Existing.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Your poem elicits a strong sense of nostalgia yet there is a calming assurance, perhaps due to the familiarity of this place. The bird who will not sing again and the isolation, a sadness. Oh, this is a beautiful poem River.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Makes me want to cry. Reminds me of something broken, lonely, hysterical, and fleeting. The hopeless waiting, the endless unknowing. The perpetual cycle of the heart healing and hurting itself..

    Liked by 1 person

  6. “Forsaken prayers”…maybe those are the prayers that didn’t rise beyond the ceilings. Death is dark and ugly, life is bright and beautiful. I like the way you expressed the contrasting realities.

    Liked by 1 person

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