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A cold house
am I,
haunted
by invisible
whispers in the wind,
breathy billows
outside my many windows
inviting me
heavenward
home.
A cold house
am I,
deceived
by visible
promises
in the sand,
concrete
calls
beneath
my very floors
telling
me
I'm already
there.
A cold house
am I,
longing
to yank
up
my sodden
stakes,
and fling
full wide
every
glassy pane,
to set
my curtains
free
to fly.
A cold house
am I,
knowing
the warmth
I want
is only
an ember away,
but choose
still
to not
stir the flame
and only
watch the fire
that
could be
from
afar. |