We Sit In Our Little Houses
We sit in our little houses.
Consumed in our little lives.
Proud of our advances.
Scared of our lies.
We ponder on the living of our very lives.
We wonder what’s the meaning of the stars in the skies.
We sit in our little house and see the clouds passing by.
We wonder what of the logic of the truth and the lie.
We forcibly place our fears to the back of our minds.
To survive the new day waiting in the cycle of our lives.
We get up and see a new face reflected in front of our eyes.
We wonder why.
All the years tracked in the face we now try to disguise.
The salad days of our youth, they’ve withered and they’ve died.
Look deep into the eyes.
Sit in your house and convince yourself of your lies.
But hey, we have to survive!
We sit in our little houses.
In the winter of our lives.
Consumed by the guilt of broken promises and lies.
To confess all the years now disappeared under time’s darkening skies.
All the tears we’ve caused to the loves of our lives.
Stored in the back of our minds, knocking on the door to re-enter our lives.
We sit in our little houses…
We sit in our little houses…
consumed in our little lives.
Copyright © A Yorkshire Poet | Year Posted 2023
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