Mind Riot Poem by Rod Morris

Mind Riot
I hurried down a dark street; in the middle of the night,
For the life of me I do not know why I fled in fright.
Suddenly to my right I see this stark-dark place,
Broken windows, like glassy eyes in a creepy face.

Door ajar from afar it seems with open arms,
Inside it beckons me; investigate my charms?
I'm in a hall that runs from front to back,
Side doors closed, each is painted black.

Sitting room, fireplace, mantle with a clock,
Door hangs open as if from sudden shock.
Hands in air at ten to two like both gave up,
The second-hand also needs a new windup.

Looking glum pendulum; has nowhere to swing,
Needs a helping hand; then watch me do my thing.
Pine-cone weights wait expectantly clings to chain,
Someone hoist me to the top, I'll slide down again.

Another door, inside shoes all with turned up toes,
Empty wire coat hangers, longing for their clothes.
Sagging shelf, some old books; a beat up bowler hat,
Gaze down at threadbare carpet; a multitude of tat.

The final door, there are no more; inside I hear a sound,
Hair prickles on my neck I sweat; help what have I found?
Still wild mind, slowdown heartbeat; nothing here to dread,
Unfettered imagination sometimes rules one's empty head.