Posts Tagged ‘home’

I never knew that

opening the white door,

leaving the painted white porch,

and walking into the grass,

into the trees, out

onto the hill,

would open up a new world for me-

one that was not even far

from home-

until I did so.

Where does Lady Luck reside?

Not by my side,

not even a block away.

Perhaps in some golden country

kissed by light of the sun,

which is obviously far

from my current dwelling.

Right now the sunlight is flashing

in between trees,

and igniting the jasper

of my eyes

as I ride steadily northward

to home.

Right now there are lovers

talking, somewhere,

there are birds

flying, somewhere,

there are mothers, fathers,

sisters, brothers, children,

and lonely people on flights

across country

and across the globe.

Somewhere- children come

screaming to life.

Somewhere- life escapes bodies-

like water down pipes.

At this same time,

there are people sitting at home.

It’s an awful thought to have- 

the thought that you may have come between two people.

If you believe yourself to be

a Bighearted person,

then do not let anger

or grief fester

in your thoughts,

or come across in your deeds.

This may seem so easily said,

and not so easily done,

but the truth is

that bighearted people

are most easily broken,

but also the most forgiving.

A big heart

is a house,

with thousands of rooms

for guests-

for every person

the heart’s owner

has ever met.

Metaphorical hearts can only be large

if they leave room for love,

and force hatred

out their doors.

New chains are chiming

along the floor,

a cold wind howls

through the open door,

and I sit here

in a musty old chair,

torn past recognition.

This home wasn’t built to last,

like my decisions, it was not cast

in metal, but in plaster

which has begun to crack.

There are no lights,

no complications.

I sit in shadow,

without anticipation.

I have seen the world outside.

Nothing waits for me there.

For now, I will rest here.

This home wasn’t built to last,

like my decisions, it was not cast

in metal, but in plaster

which has begun to crack.

The river flows through the forest,

never stopping, always rushing,

with it come fish and debris

swept up in its current

then deposited cruelly in a place they do not recognize.

But the trees stand firmly,

proud and tall.

Branches billow in the breeze.

They are quiet homes for birds and other creatures.

They provide food, and they do not protest.

The chaotic river runs wilder and wilder,

gaining speed toward the edge of the forest.

It grabs whatever it can find and

drags these things over the edge

of the forest where

the tranquility is gone.

The fish and the rocks

swept away by the river

perish at the end of their descent.