The house has been white-washed clean
The knick- knacks all so neatly placed
Floors polished bright and stains erased
Not a speck of dust to be seen.
Only I know where the musty cellars are
Where cobwebs hang in listless loops
Where broken door frames make you stoop
Where hope ferments and dreams turn sour.
When nobody is watching
I take them out
Tiny gems that catch the rays
And dazzle with their brilliance
They’ve been mine
For a long, long time
I’ve never let them go.
For if I do, I’d lose myself
Don’t dreams define us, in a sense?