Locked Away*

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
The house I build.

Submitted: September 16, 2009

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 16, 2009

A A A

A A A


I’ve built it
On the old
Churchyard,
In the midst of the
Fog.
Stamped a
“No Trespassing”
Sign out front.

Built with
Stones,
Bricks,
A fence around it.

Walk inside.
Shut the door.
Lock.
Deadbolt.
Stick a chair in front of it.

A fireplace
Is sprawled
In my house’s core.

When lit,
A large flame
Heats the house.
When empty,
My house is arctic.

Temperature changes
From day to day.

The orange
Wallpaper
Peels,
Reveals the green,
Hides the blue,
Covers the black
From the incident.

Up the marble staircase.
No handrails.
It’s a long
Way
Up.

The large attic is
Made small
By the clutter.
Odds and ends
Block the window.

Clear them away.
See the window,
Cracked
From attempts
At escape.

And why not?
Out that window
Is
A whole
New
World.

A mountain
I want to climb.
An ocean to swim.
A yellow sun.

And it exists
Only
Out my
Window.

Pile up
The clutter.
No one
Sees in.

This house
Is mine.
My own.
I built it.

I only wish
Someone
Would visit.


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