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House I Carry
I carry a house upon my back,
A fragile frame of dreams and stone.
Its windows cracked, its timbers black,
But still I walk, and still alone.
Each wall is built from words unsaid,
From nights I stitched with fraying thread.
Its roof is shingled with the dread
Of all the tears I never shed.
I pass through valleys, rivers wide,
This house sways gently as I climb.
It holds the ones I left behind,
The echoes trapped in rooms of time.
It shelters me from bitter rain,
Yet weighs me down with silent years.
A monument to love and pain,
A quiet vault of hopes and fears.
I cannot leave it on the shore,
No matter how I long to flee.
It is my burden, evermore,
It is the marrow under me.
And still I rise, though shadows press,
And still I breathe beneath its beams.
I learn to walk with weight and mess,
To carve new roads from broken dreams.
For though I carry walls of glass,
I also carry seeds of spring.
And somewhere deep, beyond the past,
I carry hope. I carry wings.
Copyright ©
Vohn Redulla
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