The Room

Its not the room I grew up in, it aint a room with a view, it aint mine, yet I haven’t come across one which throws so much at you,
Its larger than life yet being only this tiny space in the corner of this really old house.

Its walls are cracking, it’s lit by wee lamps strewn around, there is chaos, there is a soul that lives there, and its free.
The music rambles along, it’s a place I wish I could call mine, the pictures on the walls, all come to life, the birds that fly past the fairy lights in sepia,

The blue curtains faded and old shut out the world,

The books old and aging, the musty odor of knowledge engulfs your senses.

There are no words that will justify this room, the room without a view yet free to view the world.