Hotel Room
I always think a hotel overcharges lodgers
for a sleepless night hundreds of dollars
What I get from that bed
and chandelier overhead
between sheets as white as snow
as if upon a cloud I always sleep slow
a cake of soap, a tube of toothpaste
With a swimming brain I go for breakfast
No regret I go my way the next day
It is a room not of my own, anyway
What if a room of my own
What extras would I put down
that will eventually turn dust
earth to earth, dust to dust
A hotelroom, after all,is all I need to live in
We are nomads, passing the world within
-
Author:
arobot (
Offline)
- Published: July 23rd, 2020 12:09
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.