Here lies the house
the gate, tall but not tall
enough to hide
Just tall enough
to block people out
Open the locks, built upon each other like everything you have
is worth hiding
But open the gate,
Here lies the house
curved shingles on the roof right above the
Stained glass window- only a glimpse into what lies within
There are vines bordering the home, the only sign of life the visitor could see.
The neighbors visit sometimes, they take the long trek down the cobblestone road and
Tenderly ring the bell, the doorbell brings a loud but rhymthic dinging
only sounding once in a blue moon but
Loud enough to startle you when someone wants to visit.
The door opens.
the corridor, long and narrow
Lined with art, but only beautiful if you turn and take the time to stare
Take the time to really look at the art and take it in
But then you turn the corner
you find yourself in the kitchen, the smell of vanilla and the pages of freshly bought books
Fill your head, bringing back memories you didn’t think you had
The kitchen is messy.
Organized chaos,
you didn’t know where to start, but the oven smells of cupcakes.
None are eaten.
Who would eat them anyway?
Visitors rarely come. But when they do come you fill plates with food, trying to be as welcoming as you
can manage
Not wanting to scare them away.
when they ask I tell them “ I enjoy the silence but I would like a companion”
only hoping that someone would stay-
but no one ever does.
“Maybe it’s the fence.” I ponder, “maybe it’s blocking people”
from seeing that
Here lies the Home
“The tour is now over” I say
Hoping you will want to come back,
but not knowing if you would find the courage to visit