House of Horror/ Kill Everybody
Dimly lit hallways
never ending corridors
the box in the cupboard where the knives stay
a broken chandelier
a window to never portay
a single sunshine ray
it has been cemented closed for years
near the place where the old piano leers
atop the baby grand lay
an old bottle of wine
a feathery pen
scattered pages
and a line
a line repeated a million different ways
like a riddle on constant replay
beside the riddle,
sits a message scrawled across a napkin: "The Inside. The Inside of My Mind. The Inside of the Mind of A Writer. A Poet. A Musician. An Artist."
and in the middle
of it all
lays, displaced, one of the knives
a gift to an unsuspecting wife
who left years ago
-
A red ocean coats the floor, sticky and dry
A stain, A painting
A painting, on the floor, lies.
A painting of the lost wife
-
across the wall hangs a dress
purple, blue, and red
with a crown-like head-dress
looking bright as heaven against the old cream colored wall
black marks from the pen swirled about the breast of the beautiful dress
standing out above it all
a way to hold her before saying goodbye; a drawing
on the wall
a drawing.
-
In the kitchen sits a mess
gray and white mounds across the tiled floor
covering the rest
of the once perfect kitchen
silver tools cover the shiny, black stove top
blueprints and sketches stuck to the gleaming, red refrigerator
plastic over the white island and counter top
rising up from the center of the island, a mountain of white-gray
greater than the rest
rising up to form a figure of beauty, a beauty of clay
A slim body from thighs to head, and a smile
a work from memory, a sculpture
-
In the bedroom, sits a wooden desk and a bed
the desk full of and covered in the final work of an author
the first page read:
"To My Love, For Always Being Here For Me".
YOU ARE READING
Poems of Honesty and Humility
PoetryPoems to inspire. Poems to touch your heart. Poems to make you cry. Poems to show the truth behind the dark.
