The Chairs in the Windows of the Tall Hotel
Sometimes, the chairs are all
in the same place.
When they are,
I become disturbed,
feeling all of the people gone.
The hotel windows become
the universe, and I feel
lonely, frightened of the day.
Today, none of the chairs
were in place, and the chaos
stabbed at my body.
The puzzlement hung on my
Day Job, Depression, Poems, Poetry, Synchronicity, Triggers
This entry was posted on August 15, 2013, 8:43 pm and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0.
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#1 by Carl D'Agostino on August 15, 2013 - 8:57 pm
We need to have the night janitor get those chairs in order. How can the man be so insensitive ?
#2 by Carl on August 15, 2013 - 9:00 pm
If he knew about me, he’d have me committed.