Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Paint It Blue

Wooden stairs-- painted blue,
Greet me at the end of a long drive.
As they creak,
They sing of a paradise of normalcy.
But it is a siren's call . . .
For once you are submerged
The beauty wanes
To reveal a hellacious being,
And it is too late to go back.
You are trapped
With the blasphemous beauty,
The facade of love and peace.
It is too late, you fool,
As the blue stairs creak
Beneath the weight of your feet.
I turn to run,
But the door is locked behind me.
I am resigned to the ocean depths
With my sweet siren . . .

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