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Lying to Myself
March 23, 2016
The excuse lies herein:
Artistry and Sentimentality
Make vicious company.
On emaciated nights as
Rainwater pounds halos onto
Faded rose carpets,
I listen to the muted taps,
The drafty breezes, the steady clangs,
The timbre and resonance
Of a home ageing
And think that if I were
More of an artist,
I would have written the lyrics
To a rainstorm's song,
And if I were
Less of a sentimentalist,
I would have left before
My ceiling collapsed to
The flooded ground.
© Sarah M., Blairsville, PA
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The day that I wrote this, I'd been feeling relatively introspective, and it'd been raining outside. When I sat down that night to put pen to paper, this is what came out.