photo credit: whitewall buick John Hay House stairhall (demolished) via photopin (license)
There are many rooms
In this mansion,
Many rooms that make the whole.
Rooms of cobwebs,
Rooms of overflowing fears,
Rooms of wonders,
Icicles of tears.
Rooms that look out
North, east, west and south,
Corridors of light filled
With memories of ecstatic shouts.
There are many rooms
In my mind,
It’s not a split personality
Or the cracks in my reality.
It just takes many rooms
To make me whole.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
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Reblogged this on Made of sticks and stones and commented:
Day 9 and here is a poem from back in February and written while sitting in my car in a garden centre car park, but not about cars or gardens …
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