Another poem for the night…

I wrote this in a British literature class with a prompt of “write me at least a 12 line poem about this room. I’ll be back.”


Discernment within

The bustle of bodies encapsulated
within the room, sit and
ponder what is within.
O’ muse what makes thee tick?
Clocks that hang mock thy
flow, but yet no more
than time does know.
white is drenched in sterile
essence, lacking inspiration
that could be present.
Steal away unsightly room;
my fever for thee is my tomb.

good night.

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