deepundergroundpoetry.com
When This House is Filled with Love
When this house is empty,
The days grow long and sad.
The excess spaces,
Lack of faces,
Once turned the good me, bad.
But when the house is filled with love
And there comes blossom in her laugh
The rooms fill;
And burst, until
Music sings throughout the draught.
And lazy Sundays melt the ice.
Warm porridge and little things,
A flood of light,
And like a kite;
This house and all within, has wings.
The days grow long and sad.
The excess spaces,
Lack of faces,
Once turned the good me, bad.
But when the house is filled with love
And there comes blossom in her laugh
The rooms fill;
And burst, until
Music sings throughout the draught.
And lazy Sundays melt the ice.
Warm porridge and little things,
A flood of light,
And like a kite;
This house and all within, has wings.
Published 3rd Apr 2018
Author's Note
My partner has some music on in another room in the house and it inspired me to write this poem today.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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4th Apr 2018 2:52am
