A poetic journey through my mind

Falling

the walls are filled with pretty things,
bleeding hearts and diamond rings,
tables floating in the air,
and no tea pouring everywhere,
and marmosets with crumpet heads,
and queens that grow in flower beds,
pictures of the world I pass,
reflections of my looking glass,
a single chair rocks all alone,
and still I fall, a tumbling stone,
polished surface clean and slick,
so nothing thrown can ever stick,
and no one holds me as I fall,
I slip away, I hear them call,
and yet the walls grow longer still,
why does it take so long until
I fall onto the ground below,
to watch the tables shrink and grow,
and see the doors that come to play,
and laugh at me and fade away,
as the floor fades into mist,
I spit at them and shake my fist,
but still I fall into the hole
that seems to have no final goal,
except to fall and fall and fall,
and never reach the end at all,
the walls are filled with pretty things,
bleeding hearts and diamond rings,
tables floating in the air,
and no tea pouring everywhere,
and marmosets with crumpet heads,
and queens that grow in flower beds…

 

One response

  1. I really like this reminiscent of Alice through the looking glass!

    April 15, 2013 at 1:30 pm

Talk to me, people! ;)

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s