Windows and Doors
Windows And Doors
Windows and doors
And other means
Of escape, or views
Of me inside.
Doing laborious chores,
But full of beans,
Yet the latest news
Is that I cried.
So I dreamt up wars
Between Kings and Queens,
Only to confuse
Who lived or died.
And on the littered floors
'Tween bloodstained sateens
Fell a shiny bruise
That I, at once, denied.
Softly sleeping, she snores,
Between sensual dreams,
It's what I would choose
If only dreams lied.
But like gaping jaws
Of love and has-beens,
They serve only to excuse
Why the gap is so wide.
And so to distant shores
Of nightmarish greens,
Where in the familiar blues
I can hide.
But, as usual, she ignores
The in-betweens
Where the don'ts and do's
Become her chide.
The whys and wherefores,
The rows and the scenes
Become snippets of clues
I would need if I died.
But the chavs and whores,
Dressed as figurines,
Always dance in her shoes
For the ride.
And once again the wars
Rage as she preens,
To win or lose
Is a matter of pride.
Then the windows and doors
Are blown to smithereens
Destroying the views
With me still inside.
©RJVHorton2016
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