Houses
From my Old Poems collection
Apr 23, 2020 · 1 min read
I live in songs and sad hotels
Of darkened mirror image eyes
And all I lose and all I keep
Are not enough to fill the skies
I pass the houses, “Which are homes?”
My numbing walking mind inquires
I tried to build a home for us
Of sparkling glass and gilded spires
Alas, the glass it fell away
The golden spires, they crumbled too
And I was left with empty hours
Nothing left of what was you
A revelation comes to me
A faint, persistent, humming drone
You were seeking just a rest stop
But I was looking for a home!
© Copyright, Elle Beau 2020
Elle Beau writes on Medium about sex, life, relationships, society, anthropology, spirituality, and love.
