The Mansion

A mansion dank, and dark and broken,
Long since word inside been spoken,
Fallen and forgotten place with broken window, beam and door

Pathways hidden, grown o'er and lost,
Twixt fern and flower, weed and moss,
A fairy tale if 'er there were forgotten but not dead.

He stood inside, a long bone wanderer
who wondered what all this was for
as footfall after footfall he paced along the squeaking floor.

Taking one step, then another,
first his left foot then the other.
Broken down and weary, retired lonely, but not dead

Reaching wall he turned and thought,
of what with all this time he'd wrought.
Pacing through this lonely house, a shell of what it could have been

He stood much longer sat and pondered,
looking round the blue-gray walls.
Then he paced two more and faced,
the prospect of these barren halls.

He broke routine and went and looked.
The sheets removed, the drapes he shook.
Digging deep inside this house that must hold more than empty space.

deep inside the darkest hall,
He found an old familiar wall,
and sitting at its base forgotten brushes paints and ladder tall.

Week on end he spent redoing,
walls and ceilings, furniture moving,
till with time inside unique, he placed his final touch.

Today nobody stops and pauses,
as they pass the mansion gray;
But inside the world is moving, variable as a brand new day.

He brought to light a hidden wonder,
caught beneath in sleepless slumber,
A place he knew existed but pushed beneath inside his head.

And he moves on, himself fulfilling,
running notions through his head.
And though the outside unbecoming,
inside is much alive, not dead.

Well, another self-reflecting poem...It didn't start out that way. I wanted to write a poem with random stanzas and rhyming patterns. I wrote most of it with a 'raven' feel to it which was fun. Pretty self-explanatory I think. If you have questions or are confused feel free to post your concern. I like it when people give me feedback...the harsher the better. To quote Mr. Mellen: "you never improve when people tell you that you are perfect."

Jallop ll - The near reprieve

The building old, the ceiling damp
a rusty pipe, a makeshift clamp.
The mortar breaks and falls apart
A place not for the feint of heart.

32 rounds an easy feat,
4 rounds each day that must be beat.
Down each new hall he greets his task
a challenge done, with ease it's passed.

Jallop prays his suffering brief
but cannot speed his near reprieve
And soon it comes, alight in dark,
a rose glass window betwixt an arch.

Faced with freedom Jallop waits,
as one not worthy at pearly gates.
With others pushing on behind,
their blindfolds on and vision blind.

He heaves a stone midst perfect glass
and moves to light, his suffering past.
He steps into the fearsome rays
and greets the natural light of days.

He sees his friends, some not prepared,
His peers and colleagues ready. Scared.
unsure of where he fits just yet,
he starts anew, his course to set.

it's black and white, spotted, clear.
There is something better, far from here.
his faith restored, his birth anew,
Jallop sets forth his task to do.

As always I like to present some kind of explanation to my poetry to avoid misinterpretation. The task which jallop encounters at the beginning of the poem is of course High School. He bests it with little strain and feels confident that it is time to leave and move on to something better. Once he is faced with the stained glass window he sees that it is merely a rose-colored glass making everything on the other side look perfect. He hesitates wondering whether or not he is ready but realizes he has no choice. He looks around at his friends and hopes desperately that they have prepared themselves as well. In the end Jallop finds the strength to move forward with faith and conviction as he realizes Leer is with him (black and white spotted).

If you feel confused I recommend you read the first Jallop poem again. I didn't bother repeating the same symbols. And if you want to guess at some of my other symbols I would love to hear the guesses...
32, 4, and the arch.