Home Is…

My heart is made
Of tangled bricks and mortar.
Many rooms hide inside.
Some are fit for kings,
Others darkened oubliettes.
Connected by spiralled
Stairs, narrow bridges.
The door is never easy
To find, sometimes
It may not exist.
It might be locked
Or wide open, but leading
Straight to the exit.
My heart is made
Of bricks and mortar.
For today. Tomorrow
It may be made of
Sticks and feathers.
Hollow inside and
Ready to tumble down
At the faintest blow.

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2 thoughts on “Home Is…

  1. This is interesting.

    Beneath the veneer analogy of the bricks and mortar house there lies a humble, fragile mix of emotions; some rising as high as a wave on which to surf, proudly enjoying the ride, and others, dark and deeply mysterious, to be painfully and doggedly endured.. I like the suggestion too, that the rooms, like emotions, are linked either by narrow parallel similarities, or hideously twisted helter skelter-like journeys from one into the other…

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