Shadows Paint the Walls

My home is warm

where skin blisters

a fragrant smell.


But my home is warm

and I survive.


Someone is always

telling me to leave,

but home is where

I find my blanket.


It is me.


Call it sane mayhem,

or little deaths



Home is where my

heart grows soft while

beating time,

and losing clocks

on plastering

and frame.


Sadness knows

no limitations as

shadows paint

the walls.


2013 Barry Comer

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3 Responses to Shadows Paint the Walls

  1. Uzoma says:

    Oh this is well-written. So beautiful I had to read it a few more times before commenting. Thanks for stopping by my blog. You’ve a new follower from now on…

  2. I know little about poetry, but I know that I think this is beautiful and heartfelt.

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