Self Contentment

 

This room, this box with windows is a place just for me.

Just for me to stay in. My personal haven.

 

  The mocking birds fly through my open window with bale blue curtains swinging in the wind.

                Soft blue and pink hues kiss the tree tops. Clouds walk along the roads of heaven, waving to all of my absent loved ones.  And as I sit here, I realize I can see them. I can see them smiling down on me. I wave for short periods of time and enjoy talking to them often. They never mind the fact that I don’t tell them

Everything.

Even though they have the choice to see

Anything.

This heart of mine beats in my chest, beats in agreement. If my fingers should stop working would you take over?

“Lions rawr in the bushes,” I tell a baby bird, but its beak only raises a millimeter, failing to understand my meaning. All of these words cease to confuse me. I may have taken my blood to write them, but they’re so far distanced that no one else but me should comprehend them in the way I do.

And I love it.

 

 

 

Reviews

[Sel Whiteley]

You really show your love of personal space: 'My personal haven.' Yet you are also able to show the world that goes on outside your window�the only you feel only a partial part of�this is such a well-painted scene. These last lines show a mastery of an isolationist mentality only you could create:

I tell a baby bird, but its beak only raises a millimeter, failing to understand my meaning. All of these words cease to confuse me. I may have taken my blood to write them, but they're so far distanced that no one else but me should comprehend them in the way I do.

[Meredith Leigh]

I don;t know what it is about your writing, or maybe it;s just you yourself; but after reading your poetry I feel really refreshed and always finish with a smile on my face. That's a pretty great gift!

- Kriss

[Steve]

Very reflective and peaceful, a pleasant reminder that poetry can be subtle and soft in its meaning with just effect. Great write.

[ZhangZun]

I could say "been there, done that", as far as the feeling that this poem conveys. It does a great job of putting the reader there, within their own little havens of self-assurance that their writings are their comfort rooms.