Have you ever felt so deeply,
     it ripped you  *o p e n ?

your mouth is a door,
and someday you are going to be told that it's just better left closed.

your eyes are the windows to your soul,
and someday people are going to tell you to draw the curtains.

your heart has been unpacked from the basement,
and someday someone is going to tell you to put it away.

and your optimism is a candle in your windows, and someday everyone's going to try and blow it out.

i'm telling you this,
because when that someday comes i want you to know what to say.

you say,

"my mouth is a door, and i hold the key."
"my eyes are the windows to my soul and i'll wash them regularly."
"my heart will not be put away, it goes with everything."
"my optimism is a candle, and it keeps me warm."

when that someday comes,
i want you to know what to say...

you say,
"this is my house, and it's not for sale."

'Once upon a time' and 'Many years ago';
I begin with an idle thinkers' reminisce-
A past, flowing into the future
As a waterfall cascades down the valley
I am delicately delivered,
Intricately fed into the senses of a curious listener-
I am words, sometimes arranged into a ballad,
Sometimes haphazard and tragic;

I'm known by speech and the word of mouth,
My identity laced into the syllables that people whisper,
And sometimes it slips into the conversation out of the blue;
I wonder and wonder,
As I find myself moulded into verses that don't rhyme
I begin to question the veracity of my existence
Dubious as I am, I find-
myself compiled in wrinkled volumes of pale history books,
Sometimes constructively reconstructed, from my toe up to my hood
Fabled into gossips, garnishing lunch and dinner;
My world reduced into words- sometimes a saint, other times a sinner.

I find bits of me scattered around in peoples' lives, bigger stories,
But not a minute passes
When I don't loath or despise,
The shallowness of perception
As my depth is undermined.

Unknown and unfortunately misunderstood,
My story carries on and on-
Masked by words that fail to define,
Who, what and why I am
Slowly ageing and spent away by time.

Alas, I lie untouched:
Abysmal, surrounded by darkness-
Alone, having become
the perfect manifestation of what they'd thought of me,
My words are fiction and so am I,
And this,
this is my story.

(https://theextrainextraordinary.wordpress.com/)

The willow hangs,
drapes the ground,
dances to a tune
unheard in the hum
of cars and lorries,
in the commotion of
people passing in a
hurry, barely noticing
anything more than the
phones tapped with
fingers & thumbs.
But I notice,
I see it all,
the dance on display,
the symbol of sanity
I need today.