Pictures On A Wall Poem by dino evans

Being here, surrounded by these pictures on a wall
The images, just moments trapped in time
The faces seem to speak to me, and I can hear them all
Perhaps it's just a dream, though they linger in my mind.
The doors are closed, I stay apart, the shades are pulled down low
I listen to them call from deep inside
The frozen half smiles worry me, but nowhere do I go
So here above my lamp, with my desire, I reside.

Somewhere deep within my lost, and lonely memories
Faded black and white my world became
I am locked inside with these companions that I see
All are kept behind they're shining silver frames.
Protected from the ravages of age, they seem to hide
But I, have not the hope of prolonged years
Seasons wax and wain, although I cannot peer outside
Hearing voices no one else but I, am there to hear.

At times, I long to drift to sleep, stay lost within my dreams
But wake, to find the faces watching me
I've tried to run, although I have no place to run it seems
The voices call from distant places, places I can't be.
For years these things have been, and will be part of my existence
I pray someday the lamp will lose it's light
For now I must endure, although it breaks down my resistance
I long for only sunset, and the dark, embracing night.

Within this empty room, it seems I'm lost among the crowd
Just another face, I pray for peace
The lamp too dim, but far too bright, the silence much too loud
As they look deep into my soul, I'm strangely ill at ease.
How long will eyes glare back at me, watching, never blinking?
How many years have I been here, and how
When will loss of light and time, relieve the dreadful thinking
That I do not participate, within the here and now.

I feel that time has ceased for me, that I do not exist
I see they're eyes, though can't recall the names
When will all my fears subside, to take me from all this
And if they do, what part of me if any, will remain?
My story is a tale of woe, a clouded, desperate vision
The fear of never being real, at all
I'm trapped within my silver frame, with certain indecision
For you see my friends, I too, am but a picture on the wall.