Grieving House

If my grief were a house,

There would be no windows or a key;

No way for me to reach you,

No way for you to reach me.

If the walls were built with lies,

The flooring constructed by shame,

The roof would be fostered by a suffering woe,

--As would the frame.

There would be no way, despite my dreams

That I could ever get free.

I would be stuck inside this grieving house;

And I'll paint it with misery.