You cannot know what these walls
contain; a simple structure; small
in stature, strong at heart.
Pebble-dashed walls never seem
to age yet, everything inside is dying.
You could open doors and find
nirvana. Hushed halls lead
to rooms of requirement
filled with silence. A serene
atmosphere with no clue
who lives here.
Or, you’d be met with storm.
Wind-whipped as you walk
inside. shell-shocked, air thicker
than mud. Pain paints walls
in a full-blown torrent. Words
slash flesh looking for a reaction.
A roulette it may be. Dangerous,
to some. To others, a haven.
To us, it is home. In all states
of disquiet, calm or torturous
riot. It is ours and all that we are.
~The H Word~
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