In my house there are Spirals….
Spirals adorn the walls
and wrap themselves
around the place where I lay my head
– a gyrating sea of shifting pastels.
Spirals cast in metal
and carved into wood.
Imprinted upon unsuspecting candles
whose voices cast pools of lambent light.
representing the conundrum
that is Spiritual life.
Are aching tendrils of sadness
Tied to flashes of heavenly joy.
Crystalline strands of passion
bound up with guilt and remorse.
Ocher, maroon and magenta
born of struggle and loss.
embedded in the table
are the filaments of my short-lived madness.
Regrets meander on the cushions,
sewn into the flora,
so that only I may see them
and understand their poignant bleedings.
Laughter cocooned within,
festooning my curtains with multitudinous strings
that ripple – still – with heart felt gladness.
Between, betwixt and bothered.
I gaze at their glorious pattern
and drink in the reality of their presence.
Yet, in the space that lies
between their cold, rigid arms
I see the unseeable evidence of my life
and all Lives
based more in fantasy,
than the harsh, harried steps
which make up so much of reality,
mythical, unfettered, musical and true.
In your House there are Spirals too…