Dollhouses & War

The first attempt at proper poetry and the next and the next.
"Not a tea stain, but a rain stain,"
"Does my heart tangle like headphones in a pocket?"
"...mascara tears registers exhilaration under rapid music beats. "
"Love is the only blood we will bleed as / Together we fall into a rainstorm."

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9. The House at the End of the Lane

#NINE

 

A house sits patiently at the end of the lane,

With archways over its doors

Like eyebrows in the face,

Framing eyes.

 

I used to think that only small people lived there,

Since they made the doors looked so sunken

And squashed.

I used to imagine the tall stooping just to fit,

Putting hands on the walls just to squeeze in.

 

But as I’ve grown,

The arches look less like hobbles

And more like caves.

 

They serve as shelter

Against the rain,

The owner standing cosy

In a two big of a jumper,

Sleeves over hands

As they stare into the rain

But don't venture out. 

 

They serve as a smoker’s corner,

A cigarette held aloft between lips,

The smoke curling upwards,

Hitting roof

And then outwards,

To the sky.

 

Now the archways are no longer eyebrows

But the eyes themselves

The doors the pupils.

Life happens there,

Love happens there,

Memories happen there

In the house standing at the end of the lane. 

 

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