Room of Sorrow

by I.S. Parrish

Deep within the recesses of my mortal soul lies a room where secrets they be kept,
there are visions and pieces of time, in this place it seems where the devil himself has slept.

When moments of despair over me do wash and horrific images crowd my mind,
I know the door to this room has fractured and unpleasant thoughts I do find.

This room is a dark and loathsome place, kept best under lock and key,
it's intended for the storage of unwanted specters, never to be let free.

There are times when I slip in to mentally fondle some thought, long ago stored in shame,
the Deceiver whispering in the recesses, at my doorstep laying the blame.

Skeletons line the walls where paint has chipped, then fallen, and dark nasties do reside,
old crates brim with horrid stories, dusty shelves are full and demons do confide.

Through our life love we might receive, happiness at times even offers a sweet tomorrow,
knowing we must go on, smiling in pain, laughing at death, there will always be, The Room of Sorrow.

© February 1996 I.S. Parrish


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Room of Sorrow, 27 August 1996