Matthew Lyle Landsman

In my corner, it is often dark, mostly simple, chilled and stark. In my corner, I’m not so sure what to think of it all…or whether to look to the distance or turn and face the wall. In my corner I wonder if I ought to seek refuge there, or to seek escape.
In my corner, I often see you and some others there. And I make note of those absentees. Like a storm cloud off in the distance, some avoid the idea of weathering the storm, and yet others seek it and offer shelter from the deluge…and wait it out with the others.
In my corner there are seldom tears. But in the quiet might go unnoticed, a silent wail and a quiet vigil there. In my corner lays a stack of words…some I’ve shared and some unheard. In my corner one sits on the floor and stands by chair.
In my corner, I’m often not there. Instead I can be found in yours, where I see all these things and even more. In my corner, you are welcome, but you may have to linger in wait, until I return from theirs…Matthew.