It was after she told me she was
an architect
that her house begun to take on many forms
at night-
high on a hill, a wooden fortress,
or square and tall, church like;
each house
embodying
somebody I did not know
whom I now do, and still,
misty, the houses arise
in their universes
from pillows-
simple cottages
and high palaces,
their rooms unknown,
their presence, always,
hers,
their parapets golden in the sun
or grey in the shadows of night,
resting on a glowing green hill with
two large stained glass windows
that I can almost see into-
A contest entry
- Enter Sandman - a suzi & jan contest by jantastic.
3500 points, ended November 7, 2008, 13 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
I really like the blanks that are left for the reader to fill in in this piece, a little intrigue with the "her" and wondering what the relationship is. Gives it an added dimension or depth. Dreams can be so changeable. Thanks for entering this.
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it's the changeling!
I love this quality of dreams.
Good luck & thanks for entering.
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