Last Walk

There is a door that’s halfway shut,
And strains of music down the hall;
He rises, as though in a dream,
And time itself begins to crawl

He smells the world, the wallpaper,
The toothpaste, and the counter grout,
As past the open bathroom, he
Looks up to see a bulb go out

And he is nowhere, none at all,
A nightmare in its nullity —
And cannot make it down a hall
That stretches to


Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

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

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google 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 )

Connecting to %s