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House of Love
| Open Poetry #48 |
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House of Love |
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Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666California 
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House of Love He stands 'the ceneter of the room, He can still feel it there... The essence consuming, with gloom, A house built on despair. With foundations of splintered dream, Walls of papier mâche´ Won't last the day, lost to a scream That dies along the way. He lived, he loved, grew complacent; And there, the price was set... A place he never would have went Into his world was let. 'Still feels a tingle on his skin, The ghosts won't let him be. Though he knows well the cost for sin He pays eternally. The echoes still roll through his head, Two voices that condemn Him of all hope, that wish him dead, That sing the requiem. All truth be told he loved them both, And still probably does. Though with time silence becomes oath, He won't speak of what was. In fact, he will not speak at all, Unless he's spoken to... Where most words just bounce off a wall No one has broken through. He plays the game, his smile a lie To keep the vultures clear. 'Refuses to look to the sky, Or even cry a tear... For what he had, for what he held, For what he knows he needs... Emotions, by which he was compelled, The only thing for which he bleeds. Emotions he knew not to trust, Crumbling like walls of sand; That she, without thought, blows like dust Clean off her wispy hand. Michael Anderson |
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| © Copyright 2013 Michael Anderson - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Lori Grosser Rhoden Member Patricius
since 2009-10-10
Posts 10202Fair to middlin' of nowhere |
Wow! "Clean off her wispy hand. huh!?" Great line. Made me thinkith it a wee mite cold as well. Emotions..If you could bottle them you'd be the richest man in the world... Lori  |
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