Laura at dVerse has invited us to write about a room or rooms in whatever manner.
“I am not absent-minded. It is the presence of mind that makes me unaware of everything else.” G.K. Chesterton
There Was A Room
I had memories of an outside world
that I never left, but never lived
since the solace of solitude
there was another place,
my room within a room,
I vaguely remember,
was it large or small,
attic or other?
To know is never important
whether the room was in me
or I in the room,
there was a room.
Bjorn at dVerse has invited us to write a piece of prose including the line “His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream” from Maya Angelou’s ‘Caged Bird’
“Hope is a waking dream.” Aristotle
The Singer Of Love Songs
O the singer of love songs, his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream in the middle of a fire, in the middle of a torrent, a tumult. And there the scattered bones of love mock his impertinent hope beyond broken idols and lost moments that speak of eternal anguish. His is no ordinary voice. His hope is never quenched by that malady of darkness. He dares to speak of tomorrow as if nothing else were sure at all, that indeed, nothing else matters. His voice is clothed in a raiment of beauty that lifts the soul like one transported by an angelic choir to a joyful ether of heart, away from the mocking shadows of doubt. O the singer of love songs, his shadow shouts into light as soft caress of l’armour, desiring the world to rise in love and sing together once more.