I'm desperate to greet some resemblance of myself
On this street
On this house
That says "sinners are banished but lovers welcome,
I am open for those who obey
I am an example of what is produced from a loving family
A brother, A mother, A sister, A father!"
It is the everlasting symbol of the good in the world
The example everyone should follow
But I've trashed my chance at being placed at the table of this family
I memory walk through this house
Past made beds and neatly placed trinkets, clean floors
And I think of my ugly
If I was to touch the pressed, starched table cloth?
The black of my hands would pool down onto the fabric
It would turn dusty, old with this simple pass of my hand
It would crumple into the ancient runes of past civilizations
And I would weep again at this power of destruction
I possess
I do not go near this house
I ache with the creaking of its stairs
I tumble when a shingle falls
We are connected
I look on at its painted blue shutters?
its eyes to the world
And that door of red?
it speaks of a massacre
A bloody sign of revolution
A scarlet letter for a speechless door
It is the only color bold enough to stop the approaching masses
Only the door and I know why it is painted that vicious color
Of poison, Of blood, Of pain
Of a love affair gone horribly wrong
This house is a story
Like a prized book with gold trimmed pages
And the calligraphy of a exquisite writer
it sits on my heart's nightstand
it knows to much
it is the only story
I have never finished