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My Room Whispers to Me

And tells me of itself

By Aulos.MediaPublished about a year ago 1 min read
My Room Whispers to Me
Photo by Nick on Unsplash

My room whispers to me

And tells me of itself,

A story never straight, never set

Yet its walls are level as a shelf:


One day it is a poet's room

Inlaid with tears of ink

And clothes and blankets tossed aside

Soaked in scented herbs

And tired pride


One day it's the owner's room,

Desk, chair, floor stacked high

With books that speak of business

Learning all the knowledge-wealth

To buy freedom from dizziness


Another day, another tale:

This time, there lives a fighter

Who fights to win a belt

And dreams of winning glory

Before his fears are felt


Not long, it's a father's room

Where patiently he waits

To hold his future child,

Warmhearted that his life has yielded

Something undefiled


Now it is a shaman's

Who communicates with gods,

Helping people's minds relax

By telling them what pacifies

And not the ugly facts


But now the room is mine

And I lie in it alone

Yet I fear its wispy tongue:

It waits for me to leave this cell

So it can sing my song


Thank you for reading. If you like what you read, please follow me on IG and TW: @aulos.media

surreal poetry

About the Creator


I'm working on my webnovel, "Binary Shadows: The Prize of the Cybernaughts." I have 47,000 words so far. Once I reach 100,000, I'll start posting it on Royal Road.

I like....lots of things.

IG and TW: @aulos.media

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