The house

'Oh how easy it would be for her to pack,

she should leave this old house!',

I've heard that said a thousand times.

'How could you love the broken windows?',

'How could she be so fond of the old paint work?',

'How could that rotten porch wood keep her there?',

They don't understand, how could they?

Yes, the windows are broken,

they let the air in and make the french doors fly open,

but those  broken windows are mine.

Yes, the paint work has faded,

It makes the house look older than it is,

But that faded paint work is mine.

Yes, the wooden porch is rotting away,

It makes the house look poorly looked after.

But that dying porch is mine.

I do not live in a house I confess,

This small room with my family is my fortress.

But, where my heart lives is a different matter.

It is within him. I'm at risk of a heart shatter.

He is rejecting the heart that lies in his chest.

My hearts home is in a bit of a mess,

no one is taking care of it there,

so I watch in crumble into thin air.

But when you are with the one you will love always,

tell me how you depart?

So when your house is in a state,

and when the wind whistles against the rusty gate,

or when the roof tiles fall to the ground and break,

or when even the bricks are old and they ache.

pack up your belongings, leave your home,

the only place you know.

Go on then, go!

It's not as simplistic as you say, is it?

So when I say I love him still,

accept that thought please for a moment and think,

when you love and find a home

and have a place to call your own,

you'll want it forever and you'll never want to go, 

unfortunatly one day, some how,

that feeling you will know.

So stop before you say move on.

Because one day your home might even be gone.







The End

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