The hinges hang off this demented household,
can you believe cement can hold this building of misguided species?
A jaded soul escapades to lavender fields, spinning carousel dreams.
A wanderlust’s burdened shadow,
lifts a heathen from its lowest of colours.
Hibernation seems to be the insomniacs dream.
It wonders how to hold the clouds, the condensation in the air.
Administered through the intravenous drip, and so it flows –
to the coldest of alleys.
A wide seeking stare, a glass glad glare.
Ingrained morning butcher likes to give his taxidermy a chance to survive,
and still – a chance to feel alive.
A souvenir of a splintered past,
yet those busy lives have no murmur for flatlines,
they don’t have a face to blink,
a place to last.
© Thelma Von Salem @ https://thelmavonsalem.com
Image – Pinterest