THE ATTIC

THE ATTIC

I write to bestow my dreams
unto this naked page,
to imbue it with verve
and paint my life
the way I want it to be;
but the mind refuses,
to let me…be me.
A darkness filled,
cobweb infested attic;
a bloody Sunday congregation
for the melodramatic,
where insanity infects
my picture perfect -
like the rain hides the sun,
knocking with eyes
black and gray,
at my window pane.
A womb, gestating
paradoxes that constrict
and enslave, depraves me
into a poetic grave,
as I wither away.

Each and every morning,
I rise up from that grave,
deeper than it was yesterday.
I curl up on the cold attic
floor cradling my hand;
re-living memories nestled
in the lines of my palm.
The visions of the past have
draped themselves in
monotonous robes,
as timeless whispers write
odes of utmost complexity,
corrupting my ideology.
Much against my inclination,
my dreams I am
forced to resign;
open the window
and let the rain inside.

Author's Note

This is a piece I wrote a week ago and while I have a backlog of things to post written months ago - I chose to post this one to see the reception.

Thank you for the feedback should you leave it.

Reviews

[~~~~~]

Your piece was truly a pleasure to read. This is the first time I read a poem which an attic was a metaphor for the mind. I feel a sense of desperation, to manifest one's dreams once penned to parchment; a release of true self. But old memories die hard and all the baggage that comes with, pulling one inward and downward. You have a unique ability to mix metaphors in the most unusual way. If I had to describe this piece as a colour it would definitely be the deepest shades of grey.

"my dreams I am
forced to resign;
open the window
and let the rain inside." ~ A solemn surrender.

[dovetailer]

so often what I am meant to be
imposes upon what I wish I was
constrains us with ties and chains
that prevent us from following
our path to the sunshine...
leaves us in the cold dank attic
of the traditions of other men
looking out a filthy window
at the freedom we dream and desire...

it takes courage to dream...

it that the message of your poem?
Very true sentiments...
I enjoyed your point of view...
It's one I'm sure many share...

[Denise Rivard]

"Open the window and let the rain inside;" Very poignant,very telling. I too am haunted by ghosts from the past. Isn't it odd how we always give them the highest rooms of our "house" I think that by writing out our horrors we can finally lay our ghosts to rest. This was nicely depicted and a sensitive viewpoint of topic not normally discussed. I liked it.

[c.m.]

You have a very wide vocbulary, that's for sre. Well, the piece was lovely as usual. Dark but quite magical in it's own way. The last two lines are my favorites, I don't know why, they just really stand out to me. You paint emotion well. Good job.

[Adelia Alighieri]

Attics find there way in an artist or a poet's imagination and refuge. Outstanding.

[.]

This is deep and moody..I like the acceptance at the end..it adds a peace to the poem..liked it

[lavina k.]

Amazing and a beautiful one.
Described a lot about your feelings....

I write to bestow my dreams
unto this naked page,
to imbue it with verve
and paint my life
the way I want it to be;
but the mind refuses,
to let me…be me.

Loved these lines but the last line is just superb explaining how a human want to be himself but he is not in his control.
Great work!
Thank you!!!

[melissa]

very nice. dark i think but i like dark stuff:)

[Crowley]

Like everything else, the attic is prone to entropy and the man to atrophy, which will win. If the attic disappears before the will of the man does, then everything will be OK. If not, then that is just the end, and in some cases, that may not be that bad. Really dark and thought worthy read, I loved it.

[Coyote Poetry]

A very strong poem. I could feel the desire to feel some sort of peace and calm in the mist of of torment and confusion. So many strong lines. Remind me of a Hemingway novel. Must look inside the meanings to understand the purpose. A outstanding poem.
Coyote

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

My favorite lines:

"A darkness filled,
cobweb infested attic;
a bloody Sunday congregation
for the melodramatic..."

These lines seem to really sing from the screen due to the rhyme.

I like the hopefulness with which you began the poem, how you led into solemnity, and then finally into acceptance. You relinquished your spirit to the inevitable --- that darkness which tends to pervade our sense of being at times, the darkness of a forbidding attic that we always feel drawn to.

Sometimes the darkness, despite its foreboding, is comfortable.

Linda Marie