Corners with household secrets
are exposed.
Floors hold their breath in shame.
The lamp hangs low and large,
for its table has been removed.
Those, who come up the stairs,
break blindly to pieces
what was locked up, each thing
has its fate taken away,
but love is made of God,
and God is love. Amen.
The door that was inside
is now on the outside.
Under the hands of hordes
the glass dies.
The bent over mirror with
etenal light remains silent,
and closes the room.
It is covered with cobwebs.
Where couch and darkness stood
is now, mocking their secret,
a wonan's shoe to be found;
but love is made of God.
And outside the dogs are waiting.
Back to Gerrit Achterberg
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓
To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.