Taps for a lonely room

Taps for a lonely room.

Dark lights,
shutters over the heart, shudder, while
soft music
plays taps to old feelings, moments, being renewed.
(all from within
and all so real, almost too real to be relived
again, but impossible to deny life.)

I am here now
seeing myself a thousand times
in one,
scared at what could be forever.
Rocking in the cradle of misery self-made.
Enfolded within blankets without shelter
from noise, sight, experience or pain.
Tenderness pricks my heart
to cause profuse, uncontrollable bleeding. Hemophiliac biologically i
am not
but emotionally?
emotionally, there is no cure for this?
is this life? river of sorrow and pain,
of memories not quite true
which still remain too true and too poignant
for bleeding flowers? white carnation, why look so sad?
live live
&; &;
grow. grow. grow thorns if need be. adapt to what comes to come
again.

Taps flow by through pain
they know too well, over beds worn down by use.
it is not the end of that mournful wail that comes
but the beginning.
i have heard it all before.
and will hear it all again.
it never ends.
Bugler, bugler
please give my heart a rest. That song of yours tears
through my walls of stone and pierces my inner makings.
No thorns of mine aid in defense.

Dark rooms
travel through my life
where i sit to weep and where
music plays at the rhythms of my ups and downs.
Here in closed chambers,
behind concrete walls, tears lead to the bottom of my soul--
a bottomless pit,
which yet still i try to fill
so that the end which can't come, will come.
does this all make sense to you?
flesh of flesh and weathered eyes
repeatedly ask for the reasons and are turned away
by silence.
Silence too must greet you. There is no place for understanding
this.

i open my door
for a moment
and there outside too is a fire ablaze, burning all within its
grasp.
flowers, thorns and all scream in pain.
will it spread to me? and devour what little i have left?

i close the door
only to open it again
and see beyond my scorched petals
to others in bloom with happiness.
where is mine? or is it that when it is before me,
my window dirtied with age-old pain and memories
reveals only that which i already know and expect?

where is life? my life? is it this which is before me?
dark chambers exhaling interminable songs of pain,
shuttered windows and shutered hearts
and taps played to taps for a lonely room of one.
taps played to taps played to taps
in a dark, lonely room.

The smell of burning flesh,
the knowledge of burnt hopes, destroyed desires and suffocating
pain
force me to once again retreat to my icy chambers.
where is my home?
where is my song of life?
it is here mournfully wailing its tale of woe self-made.

here i am now
seeing myself suffering a thousand-fold
scared at what is to be forever. misery self-made.
locked chambers of the heart.
burning walls of pain, and the march of life
to the taps of death.
lonely room of my lonely body,
why can't my soul escape?--or enter?