Look about this room,
Inhale the scent of its past,
Peer into its shadows,
Memories dark places cast.
Come, look at its walls,
Where pictures neatly hang,
Faces smiling, faces frowning,
Faces grimacing in pain.
There is history here,
Though not at first sight,
Things buried deep within,
Vanquished, never seeing light.
This room is a shrine,
A place of hope and frustration,
A constant reminder,
A time vault of consternation.
It is a journey’s narrative,
The quest that one man gained,
It is the only room he owns,
It opens only to his name.
All these things are treasures,
Pages filled with love and strife,
This room a valued possession,
The library of one man’s life.
©2011, Donald Harbour
Donald Harbour Poetry 
It is the only room he owns,
It opens only to his name.
The poem piqued my patience wanting to know. A metaphorical room *is* a library of the self. You’ve expressed it well, Donald.
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great room Donald….thanks for sharing your room..have a great happy NY ..be healthy and safe
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i’ve been to rooms like that, and if you inhale the past you can give yourself an asthma attaack, even if you’ve never had asthma.
that aside, i love old libraries. 🙂
A Natural History of My Princess Bedroom
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Excellent poem. You truly have a gift, my friend.
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