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Through the Shutter

The dull transfiguration's of this hapless old room.
The rusted edges,
orange-brown autumn leaves
on Yosemite's endless trees.
And I'm sure,
you can feel my sigh
With my head tilted upwards,
As I watch, the green paint peeling
and small flakes falling,
it's color becomes less overwhelming.
The rooms passage,
less open than before
still open,
none the less
leads to nowhere
for ages hence
and I sit here waiting,
patiently staying
watching the beautiful scene outside of the window before me.
and my eyes do seem
to be wondering what lies beyond this stale green.
but they know,
they have to surpass,
the endless darkness beside this room
for nothing here has changed,
and they know nothing would.

poem by Joseph Ostapiuk
Added by Poetry Lover
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