Sojourn

Living in a room at the edge of the world;

Calm and serene it is.

The world I left behind

Is buried deep in me,

Still makes the noise.

The noise I tried to run away from

Has now, somehow, become the source of me.

The vibrations of it, cracking the shell I’m in.

Will I emerge from it anew

Or will it be the end of me?

This room at the edge of the world,

Now is my new home.

Embellished with the memorabilia

I stole from the other side.

The horizon shifted;

The sun is crimson here.

Blues of the sky I miss

But the shades of blue still exist.

Newspapers are a blot of black ink,

Shadows run the news succinctly,

Sanguine Op-eds are written hourly.

Like the foggy sigh against a glass window,

Moments pass with no accounts in history.

I’ve grown to like living in this room;

The white noise within keeps me company.

When my fingers turn red, post-op-ed reads,

Old clothes come in handy.