hot Air in the castle?
I come from air, and walk the halls.
There's a lonely castle, up at the peak.
The guests are few, but my work is due.
I paint the walls, ohh these empty halls.
A guest walks by, but I can't hide.
He smiles bright, with back to me.
He wanders off, perhaps he left?
But still these halls are dark?
The air is their.
The air is still.
The air is heir.
The air is stale.
Who did I come from?
What am I painting, is it this castle?
When will I end this?
Where is my face?
Why do I paint?
How am I?
I walk by the rooms.
A ball room there, and bedroom here.
Except their all dusty.
Empty, but boxes, crates stacked to fall.
I walk to a bathroom.
It's dusty here too.
I turn to the mirror, all cracked up with use.
I stare in the mirror, and theirs nothing but air
How am I air?
@7Bear7 There’s something hauntingly original in this, Bear. The castle feels like a metaphor for memory, solitude, maybe even identity.... and the way you thread air through every stanza gives it a spectral, weightless beauty. And that cracked mirror line—chilling, poetic. This felt like drifting through a dream I couldn’t quite wake from. Good work.. Keep writing!
@azurePond
Thanks Pond! It definitely was inspired by identity and emotions. I am glad it felt floaty/spectral, I was trying to give a almost not real or deferent plain vibe. It seems to have given you at least the experience I was aiming for. So thank you for participating in this art of mine! 🩵