My mind is that of a house,
it’s empty with the silence growing loud,
Ripped curtains, ceiling falling apart,
Grass ten feet high still growing in the yard,
Cracked floors,
Shattered glass,
Broken boards,
Cob webs amassed,
But this is my home.
I open up a window with every poem,
Letting you peer through and see what’s on the inside,
Sorry I didn’t clean up it’s been quite some time,
haven’t had any visitors for a while,
Closed my self off when I was just a child,
Because I couldn’t speak and explain all of my hurt,
I’m only capable of doing so when I’m writing down the words,
But now I’m opening up the door and letting things air out,
If you want you can step inside and be welcomed into my open house.
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Author:
PoeticBiscuit (
Offline) - Published: August 1st, 2019 00:59
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
Offline)
Comments2
I, for one, feel the welcome. And i bring along my friends who will help you, at your own pace, sort though those cobwebs.
Hopefully you will clean the windows when you're ready for there's a wonderful world out there just waiting to show itself off.
Excellent writing Mr Biscuit.... you'll find many householders of similar houses, self included, here on MPS.
I’ve always believed that poems are little windows into someone’s life, I feel like it’s one of the most personal and expressive types of writings. Thank you for reading as always and I look forward to taking little peeks into everybody’s houses
A powerful write. I couldn't have said it better than Dusk, but great metaphor!
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