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

Infinity

Author: Beleaguered Servant

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

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