Empty House

My heart is not a house, but I call it home,

Sometimes I hide in it when I’m feeling all alone,

The walls are full and the rooms are pretty warm,

I find it faithfully shields me from both past and future storms.

Although large, these days, I find I keep it to myself,

I don’t want to share it or accommodate someone else,

Cause when I have in the past, I’ve painfully paid for it in tears,

Recovery is difficult, sometimes taking years,

To regain whatever pride you think you might have had,

You hear you lying to yourself, saying; it wasn’t all that bad.

And when you think you’re done, anticipating a fresh start,

The past creeps in and viciously tears it all apart.

No, my heart’s not a house, it’s not even close,

More like a time capsule holding what I value most.

I wander around in it like a lost, friendly ghost,

Waiting for the keeper of the key.

Useless to me now and it seems a unfair,

sometimes it doesn’t matter how well you are prepared,

You’ve already drawn the lines and locked the pictures in your head,

Kept the defenses to yourself, with words you wanna say, unsaid

No, just untangle all those thoughts,

In the home that was your heart, not a house.

That collection of life you only dreamt about.

Surrender your dreams for reality and don’t worry about the cost.

Because time is like a thief with a stop watch,

Not a second to waste standing still,

I don’t know how to keep this home beating,

Not sure if it’s up for the thrill.

So, I take a deep breath and exhale it,

Save that work for another day,

When I have the desire for desire,

And I have the right currency to pay!