A cold house
     am I,
     haunted
     by invisible
     whispers in the wind,
     breathy billows
     outside my many windows
     inviting me
     heavenward
     home.
 
A cold house
    am I,
    deceived
    by visible
    promises in the sand,
    concrete calls
    beneath my very floors
    telling me
    I'm already
    there.
 
A cold house
    am I,
    longing
    to yank up
    my sodden stakes,
    and fling full wide
    every glassy pane,
    to set my curtains
    free
    to fly.
 
A cold house
    am I, 
    knowing
    the warmth I want
    is only an ember away,
    but choose still
    to not stir the flame
    and only watch the fire
    that could be
    from afar.

.

by J. Alan R. .                 | Back to Index |