The Room Poem by David Mitchell

Scarcely a sound is heard within this place:
The intermittent rush of cars that race
Past on the road to some far destination -
What place soever be their allocation.
The room becomes a box. And does this room
(In this lugubrious and dismal gloom)
Become the universe? What do I see
Outside this room? Nothing, so are we free
Within the universe? Is it a cell?
Outside it is there heaven? And is this hell?

(Wednesday,8th March,2006.)