Tuesday, November 4, 2008

abuse your illusion

In This House That I Call Home

huddled here in a home, not a house,
safe from those who say they love me,
safe with the one who really does

illusion burns blue-to-white hot in a hearth
sending smoke and mirrors of imagined loyalties
to an indifferent sky

where sun still rises, moon still shines, wind still blows
carrying away the sound of voices I no longer hear

huddled in this house that I call home,
warming my hands over the embers of illusion

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