Let me be the one who walks through open doors
Life showing remnants of days ignored.
Stubbing the candle in search
of normative light.

So that scented tables guide the way,
into frolicking lands where harps should play.
When these creatures take my hand
Finally all is complete.

Valleys sink and mountains rise
shifting between separate pairs of eyes.
Taking me to where is, should be.
Forlorn, for being in the now.

Take stock staggers the rocks
into shapes forming the cinder blocks.
Perhaps the mundane
can in some ways beautiful.