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The Bedroom Window by Lelia Thomas

There’s light from my window,
All boxed in four squares upon the floor.
My bedroom, a little prison in Ole House Tor.

There’s spring outside my window,
All open and blooming with green.
And I, a slight prisoner, in my bedroom unseen.

I write in my journal and sketch in my book,
All lonesome and quiet as I sit in my nook,
Wondering at the clock’s ticking hands.
Do they twitch so slow?
Do they dance so fast?
Perhaps they’ll take me before I ever know.

There’s light from my window,
All bright and golden like butter.
Yet I, a slight prisoner, in my bedroom still shudder.

There’s children’s laughter outside my window,
All soul music bubbling with elation.
And I, the sole keeper of a private nation.

Details

Written in 2004. A personal observation of my own life at the time.