The Dissatisfied Soul
It was the beautiful house upon Pleasant Street that I calledThe house of my dreams. Despite chipped paint and a broken window,
It was large and the windows faced east and a barn ambled proudly in back,
Waved to by the trees. It was spacious and aching to be filled with children
And furniture and laughter. I stopped short of saying it was the house of my
Dreams.
Then I moved in. The space filled up. Children arrived. Employment happened.
One morning I awakened to the feeling that the walls had somehow closed in. The
Plumbing had somehow corroded over night, or had always been corroded and I had
Never noticed until now. Across the street, my trees were gone and a mall built in place of
The playground. I didn't recognize my home and certainly not my dream anymore. I
Looked around in disgust and thought to myself, "It's time to move on."
"Move on from what"?, the walls seemed to question, "A house is a house with no faults but what is preexisting. You filled me with your fantasies of what you might make of
living within my walls instead of coming in with a soul free of expectation.
You did not see the cracks in the foundation. You ignored the plumbing that was too slow to warm up. This is the way you bought me and the way I have remained. I did not promise you
Anything but that I would be a house to shelter you. Now you see the imperfection and you simply abandon me? Think about it one last way, what if I were love? What if I were faith? "
"Well, love is love and faith is faith," I answered.
"A house is a house," the house answered and settled down once again to aged shivers.
Poetry by inanna
Read 468 times
Written on 2009-08-20 at 16:32
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