Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 137
Come join us!
The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit,
showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us. ~Robert
Louis Stevenson
To me you were so beautiful
tall like trees I could never climb
and my eyes were windows that would not open
for my heart was broken glass
I could not see what might have been
holding regrets larger than the last morning in your chestnut eyes
for it is easier by far to remain closed tight
than to try and open wide
especially when the main latch is stuck
and fear has closed the blinds.
This feels so sad and it pulls in that image of swollen wood no longer allowing sashes to be lifted or doors to properly open.
ReplyDeletefor it is easier by far to remain closed tight
ReplyDeletethan to try and open wide
Exactly Carrie! There seems to be not many alternatives but to sit tight. The choices have been artificially made to reduce its availability!
Hank
"holding regrets larger than the last morning in your chestnut eyes"
ReplyDeleteI feel a sadness reading these lines
Stay Safe
Much❤love
Gahhhhhhhh, lemme outta here! Love this tender and melancholy poem, Carrie.
ReplyDeleteWindows I never opened, I have a few. Also several I never should have opened. This, my dear Carrie, is a mighty fine poem.
ReplyDelete"my eyes were windows that would not open / for my heart was broken glass" - perfect!
ReplyDeleteLove those 'chestnut eyes.' I have had some broken glass in my heart from them too. Lovely, wistful, and not a little sad. Beautiful poem, Carrie.
ReplyDeleteWow. So true.
ReplyDeleteFor me, this set the tone, "my eyes were windows that would not open." Look but do not touch.
ReplyDeleteAnd the clincher, never would the meld happen, "it is easier by far to remain closed tight than to try and open wide."
A futile affair.
Thanks for another neat picture prompt, Carrie. I love to visit old houses, haven't done it for a few years though. The racoons homesteaded in Mom and Dad's old farm house. And the new owner bulldozed it down to burn.
..
Sad and poignant poem. Struggle and regrets make us poets.
ReplyDeleteOh Carrie. One of your very best.
ReplyDeleteAgree with Sherry. One of your best poems.
ReplyDeleteINSTEAD OF GETTING A LOAN,, I GOT SOMETHING NEW
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