Bnspyrd - Hobbyist, General Artist | DeviantArt (original) (raw)

Literature

No One Comes Here

It’s a place of empty tables and chairs, One of shuttered windows and stagnant air; Although the floors and walls are mighty bare, This quiet harmony is never rare. The mailbox might be bereft of letters, I do believe that’s a prospect better, To avoid callers, cheapskates, and netters; They make the dire demands of debtors. My, the old guest rooms are quite the eyepiece, The pillows are fluffed and sheets crisply creased, Why should I place upon this place such lease, And so rashly risk ruptures of this peace? Well, it certainly has been quiet here, In this perfectly isolated sphere; Nothing about this place is quite so drear, Even if I sit alone one more year. Thinking that door knob will finally turn, Curious that mailbox will still be spurned, Wondering if there’s anything to learn, About what it all means to sternful yearn.