Rooms of Life

 

Under this roof, the secrets keep,
In unmade beds and closets deep.
At every threshold, a quiet plea,
For finding joy in the cup of tea.

The doors open with the creak of years,
To rooms where we've stored our cheer and tears.
Bound by walls that have felt it all,
They watch us rise, await our fall.

The hearth, keeper of confidences.
Where soups simmered, life made sense.
Spices and herbs and the steaming pot,
Tales told over each dish, hot.

In armchairs old, love's soft arrest,
The day's fatigue finds gentle rest.
Words exhale in the ticking clock,
And kindred spirits softly talk.

The bed calls with its linen tongue,
Where moonlit fears and hopes are strung.
A cradle for the heart's repair,
In the silent chorus of the night air.

Up the stairs to the attic's mind,
Where trunks hide the years unkind.
Beneath the dust, the past awakes,
Its voice cracks as it speaks and breaks.

We are houses filled with echoing song,
Rooms of us where we belong.
Through quiet reckonings, under our skin,
Our essence beams from deep within.

Here is courage, where shadows war,
A dance with danger, an open door.
And love, that close, hallowed space,
Where the universe finds its face.

Dreams wander in a loft so wide,
Painting futures, side by side.
All that could be, whispers delight,
In the ceilings kissed by starry night.

Each room has tales if we but hear,
Whispered wisdoms crystal clear.
In this inner space, secrets roam free.
Through their telling, we come to be.