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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: The Upper Roomdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Jester_Gesture
    ASL Info:    23/f
    Elite Ratio:    3.41 - 365/459/201
    Words: 366
    Class/Type: Random Thoughts/Alone
    Total Views: 764
    Average Vote:    5.0000
    Bytes: 2300



    Description:
       ramblings from last weekend.


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsThe Upper Roomdots
    -------------------------------------------


    I don't remember who told me about this place
    but the old wooden stairs terrify me
    as I climb to The Upper Room, notebook in hand.
    The door reads, 'enter with a worshipful heart' and
    I'm thinking to myself, 'how about a broken heart instead?'
    I throw my notebook to the floorboards and look around.
    There's a whole lot of uselessness up here.
    Ugly and tarnished Christmas decorations,
    stacks of crystal bowls that don't look in their place,
    brightly woven baskets and strings of beads,
    wall mirrors and plastic stage props.

    There's no lightswitch for that lonely bulb on the ceiling,
    just that wide, dirty window staring at me.
    So I sit down in the dust and cobwebs.
    I am completely alone, as requested,
    save for the sunlight reaching weakly
    through the October sky, the wet evergreens.
    I take my gloves off and start to write.
    It's really cold, but I'm starting to stop caring.
    I'm starting to go numb in odd places.

    No one bothers me. I keep waiting for someone
    to come up and ask me why I asked to be alone,
    but the only people who venture up the stairs
    are the ones who have nothing better to do
    than explore a building with only four rooms.
    And I think to myself, "I could die in here."

    I could die in here. No one would know.
    They'd find me before I froze to death, but
    what if that white spider poisoned me,
    or what if I tripped and fell onto all those
    crystal bowls. I could bleed to death.
    They wouldn't find me until after dinner,
    when whoever it was that led me up here
    remembered that I'd asked to be alone.

    But I don't want to die in here.
    You would never find out.
    No one knows you, they wouldn't tell you.
    My silence would be your only sign.
    So I put my gloves on. I close my notebook.
    And I climb back down those horrible stairs,
    with now only one thing on my mind,
    I hate that the only thing keeping me alive in that room
    was not having you know if I was dead.




    Submitted on 2007-10-23 22:39:14     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

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    ||| Comments |||
      Amazing! I started reading and I couldn't stop, it was like this piece sucked me in and wouldn't let go, but in a good way. I'm interested to read other work by you. I really enjoyed reading this one. Keep up the awesome writing!
    -melissa
    | Posted on 2007-10-24 00:00:00 | by canarddoue | [ Reply to This ]
      This is a beautiful piece. Sad in ways but very beautiful. I love the ending, but the entire piece is writin so well, the imagery is great and if flows very well. I hope to read mor eof your work, because this is just amazing. Great piece, keep writing.

    Sarah
    | Posted on 2007-10-24 00:00:00 | by S.A.M. | [ Reply to This ]
      wow . . . this was really good -- very intense. the things you talked about seemed very familiar and easy to relate to. so it was easy to get absorbed in it. very moving. cool stuff.
    | Posted on 2007-10-24 00:00:00 | by Solomon Disease | [ Reply to This ]
      There was a time in my life when I wondered, "If I died...who would know? Who would care? How long would it take for someone to find me? What would happen to my baby if I suddenly stopped breathing?"

    I slept with my infant by my side for over 6 months...figuring that if I died in my sleep, at least she would have my body next to her for comfort...even if no milk came from my breast should she find my nipple to nurse...at least she would not be alone...

    Maybe by then, someone would find her, and she would be okay...

    I could care less about the fact of ME being dead...

    I know this has very little to do with this piece, but it is the thought that it brought to mind...

    by the way...that infant is now 24 years old and just got married this past July...so I guess I'm still here...

    | Posted on 2007-10-24 00:00:00 | by Emerging Soul | [ Reply to This ]


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