(Untitled)

The wind blows by seductively
outside while I am tucked securely
in my domestic cotton womb
She whispers gently, rapping
against my walls, wanting me
to let her come inside.

For too long I have ignored her
strangled by fear that now
let's me gasp for air, only to
highlight the precariousness
and authority of his grip.

Yet the subtle dull tones of leaves
wrestling against my pane
the crescendo of the pine combs
gently knocking upon my door
they are becoming too loud
to bare.

I have spied on you for eternity
too afraid to leave the blanket
of apathy and entropy, of a
false sense of community.
Self-induced it may be, but my
hands have gripped this blanket
for so long, they have forgotten
their own strength.

I want to tear away,
Leap up and run outside.
Doors are made to be opened
a voice within I long considered
long gone pleads.

I want to fling open all the
doors and windows of my home
so I can finally feel the
cold breeze of winters warmth
the gentle sneeze of summers charm
the shy inhale of springs alarm
the lamented exhale of autumns harm

Yet here I lay still
Still here I lay
gripped by fear, coerced by
a sense of feeling helpless
of feeling lost, being tossed
and left aside.

I hear the wind knocking still
against the pane that bars
her from entering my room
and freeing me from the
stagnant rhapsody
that has filled my nose
and pervaded my soul.

She sings, she frolics
amongst the trees
calling me....still calling me.