Mutilated sheets of silence.

Dinnertable silences have always been a threat,

Announcing impending chaos,the worst is to come,yet.

It's 11:45,and all the noises have died down quiet,

All the neighbours gone to bed,off go all the lights.

Except one,just one,our house that's filled,

with the sharp white light of argument,pristine blank noise.

A drill we've memorised a million times,

A fight we know will always run like an old Tv show.

Is it the food?Is it the expectations? Is it me?

A grunt and deep throat-clearing like a signal,

A blank stare summoning anger soon,the invite.

Eat quick,swallow,gulp,you go to run upstairs,kid

Save yourself from the noise,the hurt.

Sometimes,you will mouth a word,

but raised voices to you,never as a solution occurred.

So you just grew up in these dinnertable silences,

Letting it grow on you like a vile second skin.

You let it go,let their anger win,

Only because you know,this is only where you begin.

Scream and yell,they can,all they want-

Where you go,is only for you to decide.

 

Sundried Solutions.

If the sky grew bluer in it's lovely illusion,
The white picket fence grew anymore in perfection,
And the roses grew any rosier in their hue of passion,
and your molten brown irises caught any more sparks of shadow light.
The world would explode beyond it's basted seams,
Too  much to hold in the reflection of a slice an hour of daylight.
So much,that the Earth would crave to inhale the fragrance of our presence
Inculcate us into her invisible crevices.
It would perhaps be not for us to seize then-
The day laid out like our souls under the sun,
Soaking up warm musings of the dripping sojurn.
....