A poem for my readers…

You understand the ideology, what it’s meant to be,
What it’s meant to look like, what everyone will see.
For everyone to admire, you build it wider and higher,
Windows and doors, walls and floors,
Warm space with open fire.
Curtains and flocked wallpaper, sturdy bed with pillows stacked.
A grand table, six chairs, all moving gear unpacked.
A big sofa for comfort, with a poof to rest ones feet,
Hard enough for support, yet soft enough to sleep.
The kitchen and the bathrooms, smelling lemony, fresh and clean.
Vintage taps, granite surfaces, a roll top bath that gleams.
Coats hung up in the hallway, shoe rack on the floor.
Lion headed knocker, welcome mat at the door.
Spot lights on the ceiling, mirror in its place.
So one can mask the joy one  has, fix make up on the face.
Pictures on the walls, make sure they’re all hung straight, Photographs and oil paintings telling pasts lives or future fates. Fragrant bowls of flowers choking smells of rot.
Nursery with swinging mobile dancing above the cot.
Shelves displaying prized possessions and books of intellect.
Trophies of our talents earned though hard-times, tears and sweat.
Wardrobes filled with costumes, hangers spaced with equal measure,
So one be whoever, whenever at ones leisure.
Black screens projecting stories,
Speakers for the amplified sounds.
Get sucked in and lost for hours,
Although the walls are crumbling down.
Down and around the house goes, bricks slipping from underneath. Back to the earth the dream goes, happiness is forced to leave.
Jenga
S. Simon
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