The Poetry Room

Ars Poetica; The shape of this poem is representative of the content of the poem.

The Poetry Room

It is the sealed cell with the white, padded walls.
It is inverse, backwards, ties thoughts into knots.
It is                                            demoralizing.
It is                                            archaic.
It is                                            hopeless.
It confines you. It presses in and steals your air.
It is a typhoon of paradox and contradiction.
It is the place where dark means death.      Lord,
It is the place where light means life.        Clarity,
Followed by a sigh, says goodbye.          Light
Trickles into the room. Its rays              Illuminate.
Realization reaches out, pries            Open your eyes,
Slaps you across the face              And calls itself your god.
Only then, after the                      Embrace of surreal truth
Surrenders your                          Senses to the secondary
world around                        You, will the room reveal itself.
It is                                      a sweet nothing you whisper to yourself.
It is mayhem:                    madness bottled up and released in controlled doses.
It is                                  Pandora’s box, and you’ve spilled its contents.
It is                              Mud, the bastard child of endless sea and shifting sands.
It is                                                        poetry.