Mud House

It’s 2 a.m. and I lie awake
unable to sleep while my muse
plays word games in my head
trying to figure out how
to weave your words into poetry;
how to show you
that you do have a way with words
that no one ever gave you credit for,
not even yourself, not even now,
and you touch my heart like none other

Bricks and mortar make a pretty fortress
but perfection is highly over-rated,
and I’ve never been afraid of a little mud.
They make houses out of mud
all round the world, you know.
Mixed with a little straw
many have withstood the test of time —
and the rainy season

You would drive a thousand miles
through blinding snow
with one thought on your mind,
just to catch a glimpse
and fill the empty between your arms
for only a moment

… Brick

There’s still a small part of me
that is afraid one day 
this will come to an end,
afraid each time might be the last time,
and you know that
better than I know it myself
and you accept that

… Mortar

You make me smile
just by showing up;
by leaving thoughts for me to find
when I least expect them;
by reminding me of
all the silly things I hold dear,
and by knowing I will save every moment
as a keepsake in my mind

… Straw

The rainy season has come and gone
and even that I cherish,
for when one finds a rock
that cannot be moved,
build the house on top of it
so it may strengthen the foundation,
and even mud,
when mixed with straw,
can balance bricks and mortar

And I wouldn't trade this mud house
for any other
because we built it
together





january, 2011 
 
  



Awarded by Poetic Constellations ~ February 6, 2011 ~ Di