Friday, March 9, 2012

This House My Home

This is a poem I wrote one day several years ago when I still had toddlers. I had been on a walk and as I walked up the drive and entered our house these words came to me.

The house stands tall.
Its roof peak points to the heavens.
Its majestic form seems to speak of treasure within.

I’m drawn up the long drive by an irresistible force.
There’s a hand print on the door.
The imprint of a face pressed to glass beckons me inside.
As I open the door a smudge of dirt left by a shoe points the way.

At first glance elegance meets the eye.
Rich woodwork,
delicate stained glass,
a sparkling chandelier
all boast of glorious days from years long past.

But it’s the common things that hold my gaze.
Mirrors smudged by dirty fingers.
Carpet worn by small feet.
Floors scratched by toys.
Walls made dingy by little hands.

The house comes to life for me.
Laughter fills the rooms.
The trample of feet resound through the hall.
Blocks crash to the floor.

I can almost feel young arms wrapped around me,
A soft face pressed to my cheek,
Warm hands grasping mine,
A wet kiss planted on my face.

My heart is full.
Treasure indeed fills this house.
There’s no one richer than I.
God has blessed me with family that has made this house my home.

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1 comment:

  1. Praise God! Beautiful poem- with much Truth of what's important. These words really spoke to my heart. MUCH love