Staring at four bare walls
Some fool painted them black
The colour of my mood
When the sun is hiding
The walls stare back at me
Like a shattered mirror
With lipstick glued on it
Ghostly image still there
Four bare walls imprisoning me
Physical body withering
Mind now deteriorating
Writing poetry is freedom
Spellbinding images and brilliant poetic expressions! To my Poem List.
The build up of the set is just, perfect! We get the feeling of imprisonment without physically being there.
Outstanding piece of poetry! Beautifully poignant! Great Bukowski has inspired great thoughts! A poem to be proud of! 5 stars!
Then poetry comes in with its freedom and saves us. The best and only liberty we know.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A poem of great depth and so thought provoking. Yes, Poetry liberates the soul. There is always freedom when we write Poetry, even we are in the darkest dark.