Poetry I was a writer once.

[Clyvelle]

Room 202

The sun wanes to golden embers
Over a road that very few remember
A car travels the path long and winding
Over desert hills and sand that's blinding
By and by a sign reads at last
"Rest stop ahead: Mosey's Palace"
The travelers agree--it's getting late
Best save their adventures for a later date
Cruising into town in search of a palace
What they find seems more rugged and callous
A two story building with a wide, peeling face
It couldn't be said it didn't have space
Worn yet pristine in a used sort of way
High end or low: neither could say
Parking the car and grabbing their bags
A long stretch and a sigh as their posture sags
Fatigue weighed heavy as they approached the door
One tug, two, three and a few more
Were they closed? No vacancy? Surely not
How could they fill up such a large plot
Then a click from the door as it opened so slightly
"Must've been stuck." his wife joked lightly
Whatever the case, they were in at last
Into the lobby they moved quite fast
The tile floor was so retro and old
The walls may have once been painted gold
Hard to say in the current state
Well, at least it should be an affordable rate
Approaching the counter, he rings the bell
While they stood and waited, a silence would swell
A couple more dings in rapid succession
But no one showed, making them question
Just what kind of place this establishment was
That the staff would be AWOL without cause
They looked every which way but saw no one
Reasons to stay had just become 'none'
But just then as they were making ready to leave
They spied a key on the counter ready to be received
He picked up the key and studied its tag
A worn piece of leather looking more like a rag
Burned into its face was the number '202'
Clutching the key, he announced to the room
"We'll be staying the night and can pay what is needed.
I tip well for service, so don't think me conceited.
Skip the wake up call, we'll need our rest.
Tonight your bedsprings will be given our test!"

 

[Clyvelle]

The Gilded Lion

In Mosey's Palace through the door to the right
Is a peculiar wing that should stay out of sight
The rooms here are dangerous if you couldn't tell
Open these doors and you might fall under a spell
But one such woman did not have this warning
She was wandering around about midmorning
Opening the door she was met with a hall
Not unlike the one on the leftside sprawl
But this hall was lit and seemed very inviting
Glitzy and extravagant, it was very exciting
She walked down the hall examining each door
One, two, three, five (there was no four)
"How curious." she said before looking further
She passed many doors without much fervor
Yet one stopped her right there in her tracks
A white door with a gilded lion's head engraved in a plaque
Her pulse raced at the sight of the majestic beast
She murmured, "I'll take a peek in here at least...."
The doorknob turned at her meager touch
(This place doesn't lock its doors much)
Upon entering she finds the room empty
Save for a sign which reads "Can the beast tempt thee?"
On the floor before her was a magnficent rug
Woven in the fibers was a large lion and its young
They were laid out on a background of deepest blue
Her eyes could not move from that magnificent hue
A titillated breath escapes her lips
She crouches down and sits as she smooths her slip
Her hand caresses the rug's silken fibers
The texture intoxicating her worse than an imbiber
She lays down next to the lion's head
As she strokes its mane, she felt heavy as lead
She was quite content to lay there forever
Petting the lion a worthy endeavor
She continued to do so unaware of the sound
A chirping purr could be heard all around
The golden fibers of the lion bulged and grew
As the beast rose from the carpet and the sea of blue
The girl's hand never left the great lion's mane
Unaware of the beast or whether it was tame
But the lion was real as was its hunger
For long had it been in deep, deep slumber
And so if you travel down the right wing
And spy a door with the head of the lion king
Pass it on by for you shall not find
A young damsel therein to wine and dine
Just a lush rug with a gilded lion
Waiting for a passersby to tempt and dine on

 

[Clyvelle]

Dream of a Dream

I dreamed of you once
Twice, maybe three times
It made me happy
Every time
Every
Time
I expected to one day perhaps
Wake up and see you there
Next to me
With me
We shared so much time together
Intimate time
Close time
So little time in the end
I wished I had more dreams of you
But even more so
I wish
I hoped
I thought perhaps
After so much time together
Maybe you would dream of me

 

[Clyvelle]

Mother's Eyes

Surrounded by masses of people
Intoxicated with wanting to be
To exist in another's gaze
I lose myself in their futile search
For meaning found in the eyes of the beholder
Inundated by these lost souls
I cannot fathom what quiet is
So many voices crying out with longing
Believing that if they cry the loudest
Someone might notice their
Validate their existence
"I see you therefore you exist"
It's the voice of Mother
Snatching up her miserable infant
Wailing if by some way to reach
Her lofty ears up out of sight and reach
From such billow the smog I am smothered by
Children reaching up to each other
Belching haunted echoing wails
"You will replace Mother in my eyes"
I am not Mother for anyone
I am not a miserable infant
I stamp my foot with insistance
"I AM NOT! I AM NOT! I AM NOT!"
Tell me I am not a child like them
Tell me I do not wail like them
Tell me I am not them
Separate us by kinds: I and them
Tell me I'm better Mother
Notice me Mother
Don't cater to them mother
I AM YOUR CHILD MOTHER
NOTICE ME MOTHER
NOTICE ME, NOTICE ME, NOTICE ME

 

[TheEchoes]

I love that you have a very distinct style. Keep up the good work.