A View in the Paneled Room

BY CAR0LE NICHOLS

I find myself in the paneled room,

Not remembering how I got there;

From my corner I look to take it in,

I don't want to look at the couch and chair.

The woodwork is rich and gleaming

Candles by hundreds flicker and glow;

It's seems a warm and cozy place,

Yet I'm chilled and still I can't go.

I don't know how I came to be here,

Something ties me here, won't let me leave,

My eyes flitter to the sofa at last,

And I see a small hand and lacy sleeve.

Someone is sleeping, I say to myself,

But the hand looks unnaturally still;

And I'm tugged reluctantly toward it,

Something moves me against my will.

My soul shivers with dread as I grow near,

Instinct screaming there do not gaze,

As I'm pulled till I see what awaits me,

And the woman appears in my teary haze.

I gasp as I realize she's sleeping not,

For death has left it's ugly mark;

Her blood turns the couch from blue to red,

Her eyes have dulled in her face, so stark.

And I know why I'm here in this quiet room,

Understand why from it I can't flee.

I look down on the woman now freed from pain,

The face that I see is the face of me.