Sitting by the window

I was sitting by the window reading, and really bored. So now it is a poem.

 The cars roll by,

moving fast like a stampede,

My back aches,

I think it was the knife causing it.

The book I was reading lies by my feet,

motionless, with its pages all torn,

my head rests upon the glass.

Out of the corner of my eye,

a distilled house cries,

no joy remains these days.

The sun having known this,

is postitioned just right,

so I am left in the cold shadows of night,

While the television curses my name in the background,

It needs my attention.

The cat bites at my fingertips,

and a scarlet drop hits the floor,

but soon, like all things it disappears.

The blanket covering my knees,

droops with the weight of anger,

a tear oozes from my heart,

always reminding me of the glory days.

Dead in my chair,

the cars rolling by,

I eternally look out my window,

into the world I will never know.

Reviews

[Everchanging Disaster]

Wow, this is amazing, I love how you turned something so simple into a brief tour through your soul...truly touching, well written, great flow, all in all an excellent read.

Thank you for sharing.