In this idolised future,
I sink all of my time into this house.
I am tending to my religion.
Aligning canisters;
Coffee, tea, flour.
Seeing to lilacs;
Drip, drip, drip.
Watching you sleep;
Kiss, kiss, kiss.
In this house there are no mistakes,
The grass is kept,
The neighbours are impressed.
The hours spent here were long,
Until the house that stood called my name;
Only then I realised.
The floor was creaking,
The roof was old.
The house was sold.
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Author:
tom_day (
Offline) - Published: November 1st, 2022 06:08
- Comment from author about the poem: my first poem, i know nothing about writing poetry so still learning, i'd appreciate some feedback :)
- Category: Love
- Views: 17
Offline)
Comments2
Suggest you spend time reading other poetry - by no means just here, although stay with it. but also on the rest of the web, and in dusty books. MPS also has a large resource on the main page as you enter
Welcome to MPS and listen to what Dave said. That is good advice: "stay with it." Poetry is seasonal as well as emotional... and like the tides it will ebb and flow.
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