I’ve built my house,
on a bed of dreams,
a million little hopeful timbers,
with nails made of joy and grief.
Life takes hold of us that way,
you know –
the sweet made sweeter
by bitter loss,
the loss made better by
the time that came before.
Funny, that I didn’t even realize,
how the building and building
never felt like a chore.
And now, my house moves
with me wherever I go,
but also stands
forever at a crossroads,
a perpetual choice between
this and that
or that or that.
And though it doesn’t matter,
I wonder:
How many lives have I
not chosen?
Thanks for sharing your poem. Anita
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for reading! Glad you enjoyed it! 🙂
LikeLike
I truly love and enjoy how your words create pictures in my mind as I read them. You have such a gift.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much! I really appreciate your kind words, and I’m so glad you liked the poem. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
logs and mortar
a home
domicile
so smile
LikeLiked by 1 person
AMAZING🙌🏼🙌🏼
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much!
LikeLiked by 1 person