Cold Houses, Warm Homes.

The emptiness of a house, but the warmth of a family.

It's cold in here.

the storm is seeping through

the holes that you

left inside my lonely room 

and I covered them

with paintings of

paper doves

that flew to high to reach the sky

and met the roof instead.

I flew to high to find-

this house was never a home at all.

when we were younger

we watched our crazy mothers

sleep with tired eyes in tired dreams

their frozen hands

somewhere in between cold houses

wanting warm homes. 

the foundation, made of icy stone

was  melting, melting gone. 

 shaky frames and window shades

 drew to close for us to see the sun

and the world in view looked so cold.

and far to soon we were far to old.

 

we can melt these memories

 

lets burn them down

with the matches we found in

 the trees we'll climb,

 like children of nine,

who still believe that dinosaurs died 

when firey rocks fell from the sky.

we'll melt our houses to the ground

and grow a forrest that won't burn down

We'll watch the sea wash over this town

 

and never, ever look back. 

Reviews

[knowman]

I like your poem, as a child I lived in Eureaka also but my family moved around a lot, I started writing poems in 1966, but mine most all have to rhyeme.