Posts Tagged ‘House’

Bird calls

Morning drum of sun

Bell of the telephone

Sirens for an emergency

Bubbles of thunder that burst

Camera flash of lightning

Flood of wind

The tree that grew at an angle

became one with the house

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Rise

out of a blue sea

into scarlet light,

descend the marble steps

to a pool as clear as glass.

Sweep away remaining sleep,

find the jungle of fruits-

a bright feast.

Open mouth in a wide “O”,

loose a gust,

focus on the wash of yellow

shining through.

Flutters and twips float

in- vague- into the

temporary cage.

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.

My golden house is adorned with flames,

it licks itself with them, wistfully cleaning

blemishes which are not there.

Fires rise and crackle.

The whole cacophony, the whole sound

of these flames could timid a lion.

Even though I among these precious metals-

orange brighter than any morning,

red deeper and more passionate than a heartbeat

or a kiss, I find myself

looking out at the worlds between the flames.

How minuscule they are-

a yellow thumb, a dark brown eye,

a fleck of glowing white,

pinpricks…

I’m afraid I know nothing else

than shades of fire

and my own face.

Indeed, there are others glowing,

held in comfort of white embers

and enthused by the ceaseless dancing of flames,

but I find myself not with vigor of flame,

but with emptiness, that same emptiness

as the black reaching

between those worlds and specks of light, unifying us,

and separating us

all the same.