Windows and Doors

Windows And Doors Windows and doors And other means Of escape, or views Of me inside. Doing laborious chores, But full of beans, Yet the latest news Is that I cried. So I dreamt up wars Between Kings and Queens, Only to confuse Who lived or died. And on the littered floors 'Tween bloodstained sateens Fell a shiny bruise That I, at once, denied. Softly sleeping, she snores, Between sensual dreams, It's what I would choose If only dreams lied. But like gaping jaws Of love and has-beens, They serve only to excuse Why the gap is so wide. And so to distant shores Of nightmarish greens, Where in the familiar blues I can hide. But, as usual, she ignores The in-betweens Where the don'ts and do's Become her chide. The whys and wherefores, The rows and the scenes Become snippets of clues I would need if I died. But the chavs and whores, Dressed as figurines, Always dance in her shoes For the ride. And once again the wars Rage as she preens, To win or lose Is a matter of pride. Then the windows and doors Are blown to smithereens Destroying the views With me still inside. ©RJVHorton2016