And So He Sits

Bottled up with feelings, emotions and thoughts, 

all these things with no where to go, but on paper.

He finds relief in his closet of a room, 

may not be much, but this is his escape.

The only place where he knows he's safe

the only sound he hears,

is the squeak the chair makes as he sits.

And so he sits,

and so he sits.

He looks around the room, no one else around

he is alone.

And he wants to be.

He is unaware of his surroundings, 

except for the paper, pen, and the chair he sits in.

He gazes out the window beside him

and expresses a deep sigh.

He lets his emotions run, 

pen vigorously writing words on paper, 

words that might not make sense to others, 

but it does.

To him.

He holds his head in his hands, 

and sighs again.

He slowly gets up and walks away.

his work is done.

Before shutting the door,

He glances back, and looks once more.

What is left?

A poem, written on a once clean paper.  

it may not be much, but this, 

this is his escape.