Creating a nest,
a little home to call one’s own.
A place decorated
and built up with
golden coins,
silver memories,
wooden promises
and glass eyes.
.
Inside the home
is the apex of relaxation.
Inside the home
a thousand truths wait
to sing their hearts out to you.
Inside the home
all is safe and warm.
Or so I thought.
~
People love my architecture.
People think my décor is top notch.
People want to see my home.
They want to be my home.
They want to live my home.
So I open the door
and allow visitors
to go though.
.
Some traipse through the halls,
while others blunder through
the cluttered rooms and open closets.
.
But every one in a while,
a visitor wants more than to visit,
they want to borrow
Real eyes hidden behind glass.
they want to write a good story,
they want to report on my goods
they want to steal.
~
I opened my house,
I was generous,
so they assumed
that my house was
a public place
like a museum
where all were free
to visit,
discuss
and gander.
.
They took away
my ability to greet people
at the door.
They took away
my ability to screen people
and check to make sure they mean me no ill harm.
They made my house
into a glass house.
~
“A man’s home is his castle”
.
A castle cannot be made of glass.
The sun will refract through the glass and burn
the whole interior.
.
If all can see,
where is there to hide?
If all can see,
what point is there
in living here anymore?
There is nowhere left
to feel safe and free from prying eyes.
.
This is no longer a safe house,
it will from now on be
an abandoned roost.
______________
