QED

poesy

Hotel Y

I sit down and take a breath
sending a muted proposal which continues
on a path without a return address.
Here, the halls are filled with people
who have closed the last door on their lives
and wait to schedule a moment with God.
I saw it all: their veins filled with muck
and carpets stained with blood.
Attendants, sat blind with trivial thoughts
about yesterday’s ballgame,
with a garbage bag at the ready
just in case they had to toss away John Doe’s
Christmas cards to mother.
All the while, I had to close my own door
on my former life
and begin anew with scant possessions,
hoping that I was to see the sun again
free from the tyranny of another.

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