I am a mansion

with many rooms,

windows, walls,

doors and locks,

knobs, lights

and well-used brooms

to clean my messes,

make things alright,

or as right as I presume

 

I love to fill

my many rooms

with pictures, novels,

histories,

hopes and dreams

all brightly in bloom,

to clothe my house

in a layer of warmth

and pleasant memories

relume

 

but there are two rooms

in this mansion of mine

that empty still remain.

travelers come through

and leave their mark

but no one cares to stay.

 

so in my mansion,

these two rooms

are dusty, dark,

cold and empty,

waiting for

the passing gloom

to pass along.

so until then

I’ll close the doors to these

two rooms

 

I am a mansion

with many rooms

warm, bright,

comfortable, real

mostly pleasant,

save for the two

that coldly haunt me

with their emptiness

like the leftover scent of old

perfume

 

as travellers come

and pass by the doors

I don’t want to hope anymore.

at the same time

this chill without hope

might leave a deeper scar on my soul.

 

oh to find balance

between locked and open doors!

to find safety in the open

and peace in the locked!

I wish I’d find comfort

in these wide open doors,

but the dust left by travellers

hurts to see anymore.

or I wish I could solidly

slam and lock these doors

but it would contradict nature

to tear hope out of my soul.

 

so I’m stuck in between,

undecidedly in a twilight zone

trying to distract myself

by endlessly wandering my home,

hoping that somehow

these doors, on their own,

will simultaneously be

shut AND open,

and leave me alone