The windows in my house are bright,
And yet my home is gray.
The curtains drawn, the locks are tight,
The neighbors kept away.
The paintings in my house are black,
the furniture is old.
the food I eat is moldy
and the bed I have is cold.
My picture frames are dusty
The pictures black and white
The lamps are bent, and rusty
lightbulbs hang where once alight
My house might seem a little ghostly
But it's the best thing that I own
No one rings the doorbell, mostly
every day I am alone.
I sing softly in the kitchen
I scream in the living room
I wipe my dusty cupboards
and I pick up my old straw broom
Although my house is quiet,
In it's silent disarry
My house is where my song lives
So my house is where I stay
A contest entry
- Rhyme. Bring in your masterpieces! by Never Fall in Love.
1300 points, ended July 27, 2008, 20 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What be your thoughts?
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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i dont like it.. it scares me.
And its not like your house, whatsoever
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who says it's about my house?
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umm.. well the title is " my house" and you wrote it... so i just connected the two, and i have NO idea how i came up with it....
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Maybe it's one big huge metaphor
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or maybe youve gone crazy, and you dont know what your talking about...
:|
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