Windows

lighted-windows1

the lights glow yellow in the dark as I stroll past the houses
looking in the windows
catching snippets of each story
but we only see a glimpse, a trailer
a small lighted square
but there may be demons hanging underneath the curtains
nobody on the outside can see what lurks out of view
wise children know the floor can be full of snakes
or hot lava
cracks in the floor
and if you step on them
you are responsible for a back breaking
Moving to another window is the next page in a new chapter
we all hope for happy endings without knowing what the story is…

{Inspired by a wise and insightful comment from a friend.}

 

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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