House

If I open the windows and throw the curtains wide apart
I hope that what's outside will draw out whatever was within
But the warms colours painted like masks on the walls
Cannot hold in the reflection of the wind
And it passes like an embrace through my body
And sends shivers through my shame
And brings cold tears to my cries.


No more calls to answer.
Yet the silent telephone only rings louder.


But I should not be listening.
The words have been torn
And yet the pictures already drawn


Just trust the dawning day to hide
What could have happened
Without his pride


All else in a fist
You choose which one
But the only thing opened is an old wound
Your hands are tied behind your eyes
And now you can't think when it has begun
And all you do is wait for the air to clear
And then from his mind your prise
The final glistening fear
And then his sense flies
And the butterfly dies.


Shaking the walls only brings out the cracks
The ground still lays with shallow selfishness.
And it appears to not tremble when all else has
Shone, but even the feeling of the breeze
Makes it with to vanish
So that the wind can fall 
And ignore the chill
And the shouts
And the freeze.