Poem — Lonely House


When the rage of time
Lies nowhere, but in your skin
Then rage, old man,
For time is a blight
A cross for all to bare,
A sin for its own sake
If dust should fill your lungs
And fog your eyes
And your lusts forgiven
By time’s fading light
Then call for the nearest storm
And find it’s way
Its winds are killing your house

Do not be afraid, old and gentle man
This is what was always meant to happen
If old age did not come, nor your love soften
Then what would Time ever want from you
When the houses lights fade forever into sand?

Even when life dims across the plain
Of your minds webs and instances,
It’s tethers of memories and dimming mane.
Should passions of the past remind you
Of lives you should of protected;
that’s why old photo’s are built for brief glances

This life you may have lead, with small poetic visions
tainted with the faint whisperings of “I love you”
Says to you, forcing you to make weak decisions,
that what may have washed away in your lonely house
The clanked clogs of your brain will still utter: “this will never do”

I know you thought
You could make life perfect, old man
Thinking the world more safe
Than what you would like to think
My heart sometimes,
only sometimes though,
wishes to hear you out

It will always remain difficult however
May it never be the same
As it was before
Nor leave it in a place where
Anyone could find it
Or see it, see it fade
Like a whisper in a windy valley



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