Messy Room ( An Original Poem)

Crumpled poems lay in heaps

Old newspapers from last week,

As discarded thoughts of an old regime

A cluttered room still unredeemed.

Coats hang menacingly on the door,

Skittles rappers on the floor,

Dark guardians of a forbidden treasure.

Bed remains unmade,

A stack of books his choice of leisure;

Last weeks jeans still block the path,

Dirty dishes lay untouched,

White air forces out of place,

Unknown creatures stir, unwatched.

Among this wreck he lays reclined ,

Lost in an abyssal depth of mind,

Unsightly coin case on the windows hinge,

With a vacuum cleaner collecting dust

On the corners fringe.

The words to write all seem long gone,

As a mixed CD play his favortie songs.

Depression ebbs as feelings flow,

No clean up for this battered soul.

So lock the door ignoring knocks!

Dispersing all the moth-ball stock,

He sips the draught of unborn dreams,

Till a Deus ex machina comes to clean.

Anston