The White Room
The dalliance of prancing, dancing youth The Reality that masks the greatest truth The ladder of thorns and wired barb, That ends in the tree tops' White Room Trapped in the grasp, clasp, last gasp of breath, The sky is slate gray, flay the skin clay; Hopeless to look back now, Too much time has passed Between birth and death. The valiance of commissioned, conditioned rats The terror from leeches and vampire bats The cellar steps, rotten and old, That end in a lightless folly The web caught fly will die: the last goodbye? Hell in bloom, the loom, impending doom; Pointless to seek an exit; Best chances now have passed Between you and I. The alliance of scattered, shattered foes The repentance of rogues in their death throes The rathole of stench and futile garb That ends in the deep roots' chambers Entombed in the deep, Keep; a muted weep? The room white road, strewn with dead souls, Wasting to struggle Against a new dawn, Between pain and sleep.
© Severn Dwyer. 2007