Feb
10
Dollhouse
(an original)
I come to a home full of honey and spice;
qur’ans and bibles lay side by side.
This is where opposition is beauty;
this is where madness turns calm.
Our tiny house is surrounded by green.
Below, waits the stale, dank Normal.
Up in heaven no boredom is irking;
the earth—that was hell—still reminds.
Yes, the sweet isn’t sweet without sour;
but here, out the window flows sour:
A mob of love-haters is raging
and it’s only exposing our Shine.
They paint the nightmares and if’s;
they will ring and twist our craze.
But then, all I do, is pull you to me
and live without acrid projections.
© 2010 Constantine Kulakov
