There's an old house
Encased in ivy and decorated with pristine roses
And a door made for giants
So huge that it makes me feel like
A louse.

In the heart of the monstrous building
There is little light inside
There's halls covered in paintings
But instead I focus on the paintwork that's chipping.

There's also a fisherman's cottage
Standing tall near the shore
With a warm, welcoming front door
And the smell of hot porridge.

The rooms are filled with sunlight
And the silence is beckoning
But the doors are locked
So all I can do is look through until night.

And I am stuck in the middle,
Far far away,
From either of the buildings,
And the overwhelming sensation
Is hard to keep at bay.

29.3.16