The green kitchen towels have been replaced by white ones,
and the silverware now sit in different directions.
A circuit of familiarity- replaced by emptiness- replaced by a strange kind of happiness become the layers of paint on the walls, old to new.
This is the house my mentality has created for me.
Change flooded through it, and rearranged the outlook.
I thought I saw it follow me around the corner. It stopped at the place where light from my dim room reflected it’s monster shadow against the hallway walls. I turned for a moment anticipating if my eyes indeed had seen the image or if it was a figment of my imagination. I felt it lurking behind me in despair, but hid so I could never confront it. It became the shadow to my own self and I feared for what it would make me.
I realized it had been my worries frantically lurking behind
That had latched onto me,
Before I could set them free.
So beautiful is the dove that shines pure innocence onto wispy clouds beneath. Her wings soar against poisoned wind, wilting the olive branch in her sharply trimmed beak. She struggles to fly until death snatches her like the talons of a vulture and she falls quickly to the ground.
So handsome is the stoical butterfly made of blue and yellow. Its wings sway with the rhythm of the wind while it pollinates flirting flowers. It drinks smoothly the venomous nectar and soon after dissipates out of existence.
So disturbingly lovely is me of my mother’s womb and then my father’s home. I travel in faith until I fall deep into an empty pit of sorrow, and the fluttering wings of death. I drink the cup of sin and I can’t turn back because the hatred has already kissed my lips. The shovel at the hands of the world pushes soil into the pit to cover me fully now.
