The Room
By Peter Woodgate
One
hand on the doorknob
The
latch I then slide
As
bravely I open
And
survey the inside.
A
fire in the grate
A
soft rug on the floor
A
guard in the hearth
But
what is this for?
My
gaze wanders aimlessly
Searching
around
My
heart remains chilled
For
this room lacks the sound.
Of
the voice, that once, could right all wrongs
Soothing
my troubled brow
And a
smile that would say everything is ok
That
was then, but alas, not now.
She
has gone, my light, my saviour
I
stand alone in this room we would share
I try
to remember the good times
a
vision of her standing there.
But
despite the flame, it isn’t the same
This
room where I stand and stare,
A
stark realization of what now remains
just
some boots and a hat on the chair.
Copyright Peter Woodgate
Nicely written Peter, is it Pros?
ReplyDeleteNo, not pros, irregular rhyme. My response on being shown a painting and being asked for my thoughts!!
DeleteBecause poetry has evolved and rhyming is considered "old fashioned" it is sometimes difficult to tell the difference however,it should be recognised by it's structure.
Clever rhymescheme Peter.
ReplyDeleteI liked this, Peter.
ReplyDelete