blind lines crossing the fine ropes holding the burning bridges towards my broken home
invisible lines cradling the nest of lost memories manifesting in latent photographs
threshold to the dark doorways dusted from the reminisces, blocking the passageway
ebb of the tides of time waving through the shorelines with its wistful waters
standstill until the tears collect themselves like dewdrops upon the leaves and fall profusely
frost-written like an un-melting spell that won't thaw keeping me in captivity of cold-recognitions
rendezvous with my past and present shadow masks cloaking the I-Land where the hidden dormant identity resides
occupying the confinements in a house of glass like a rose anticipating for the first kiss of sunlight upon her radiance
somewhere, anywhere she wants to go and forget the memoirs of a broken homes
to herself, she wants to be her haven, her own home, even if she was so alone
