Dear Reader,
The lamp in my room
has a face,
well, a few.
The shade of the lamp
sits like a basket,
with cross-hatching.
I see
no
light,
from the lamp in my room.
The body
and base are
plastic-
like wood,
split into sections,
a strange imperfection.
The top of the base
has a face,
just wait.
Molded on the body,
are rosebuds,
and some holly.
Now,
the base of the lamp,
you see
and I vow,
has a face,
maybe two,
I wish I could know
somehow -
With ornate designs,
and a face,
I surmise -
You see,
The man who
lives by me,
told me
Once.
A dunce,
I suppose,
couldn't read,
couldn't write.
I asked him
why;
I felt watched
in my room,
I felt eyes
in my room,
I heard breathing
in my room,
there was a man
in my room.
Wisely,
he said,
¨that feelin´
ain´t not´ín
to dread,
it´s only
the lamp in your room,
that watches your bed -
it has a face,
no, a few,
that are always watchin´ you¨
Relieved, finally,
I asked him to leave.
Loud footsteps,
trailed through the house.
But I never
heard my neighbor
finally
go out.
The door never opened,
nor did his car take off,
His keys didn't jingle,
and the door was pad-locked.
I guess I wasn't listening,
when he
went out.
But,
that night,
the feeling came back,
out of fright -
I searched
for the man in my room.
I could tell it wasn't my lamp,
or just a mirror.
Feeling around the mess
with a broom,
I finally felt
the face in my room.
Punching and hitting,
I heard a loud
Yelp!
from a strange,
common voice.
You see,
the man in my room
has a face,
actually,
Two.
Sincerely,
A blind man
The lamp in my room
has a face,
well, a few.
The shade of the lamp
sits like a basket,
with cross-hatching.
I see
no
light,
from the lamp in my room.
The body
and base are
plastic-
like wood,
split into sections,
a strange imperfection.
The top of the base
has a face,
just wait.
Molded on the body,
are rosebuds,
and some holly.
Now,
the base of the lamp,
you see
and I vow,
has a face,
maybe two,
I wish I could know
somehow -
With ornate designs,
and a face,
I surmise -
You see,
The man who
lives by me,
told me
Once.
A dunce,
I suppose,
couldn't read,
couldn't write.
I asked him
why;
I felt watched
in my room,
I felt eyes
in my room,
I heard breathing
in my room,
there was a man
in my room.
Wisely,
he said,
¨that feelin´
ain´t not´ín
to dread,
it´s only
the lamp in your room,
that watches your bed -
it has a face,
no, a few,
that are always watchin´ you¨
Relieved, finally,
I asked him to leave.
Loud footsteps,
trailed through the house.
But I never
heard my neighbor
finally
go out.
The door never opened,
nor did his car take off,
His keys didn't jingle,
and the door was pad-locked.
I guess I wasn't listening,
when he
went out.
But,
that night,
the feeling came back,
out of fright -
I searched
for the man in my room.
I could tell it wasn't my lamp,
or just a mirror.
Feeling around the mess
with a broom,
I finally felt
the face in my room.
Punching and hitting,
I heard a loud
Yelp!
from a strange,
common voice.
You see,
the man in my room
has a face,
actually,
Two.
Sincerely,
A blind man