Nuclear/Sterile

Coming home:

I’ve never seen such a long stretch of rays

casting light from the windows,

Gifting slivers of gold from the heavens,

all hours of day -

And all across the whites and greys

of these sterile rooms.

And to this day,

I’ve never smelled a scent so artificial

but still so nostalgic,

noticed during the silent moments of my vacant mind,

that somehow fits right

all across the memories which reap me comfort

from the whites and greys

of these sterile rooms.

I know the sun casts the way it does,

from plains that remind me of a nuclear desert -

making fields of grass glow green.

And I know the smells are a result

of good housekeeping -

with hand soaps and glade plugins,

and smells that could be white tea,

berries, or meadow springs.

And maybe that is why for years,

I’ve craved the grime of a busy place

stubbornly set

in the strong will of nature.

And also, maybe that is why

after all those years

I find such comfort and rest

in a place where, at one time,

my mind could do nothing but yearn

for some place so far away

from an existence so sterile.

The distant pastures are painted a faded yellow

not becoming of the greens and golds

that I love and know.

Beyond the pastures are still the hue of faded yellow,

staining everything that might have been

once beautiful to behold.

I don’t know anymore

whether to behold this small, sterile world as beauty,

or all that exists outside it -