whadmin

It is not for me to judge
the housekeeping of others.

My own house, temporary though it may be,
free from clutter, so it shall remain,
while my luck holds out, while
my hunger lasts.
Call me fastidious.

I watch as she runs her harried life,
to and from, out and in.
Is it mere indecision, or
a lack of direction causing her
frantic unease?

I stay at her door, and watch as days pass,
she runs the day and cries the night;
alone, she believes, forever alone.
Yet, I live in her doorway,
my home within her home;
and still the clutter builds.

It is not for me to judge
the housekeeping of others.

Last edited by Damian on August 2, 2011, 5:47 am