|HOUSE HUNTING

What lies behind this white front door?
Is it pristine clean, lived-in, in need of refurbishment?

I'm sure it is unique, is exactly what I'm looking for.
As I insert key in lock, I sense it's interior thinking:

Is this the one I'm destined for:
This emotional woman, lacking in stature with too much hair?

And I hesitate, key still in lock.
Is it aware I'm reading it's thoughts?

Could bricks and mortar be my Soulmate?
Get a grip on reality!

But it's aura reaches out, it seems to want me.
And I so want to be wanted by this house.

If I were, I wouldn't mind a bit of dust to clear,
Or a chipped worktop to repair here and there.

My present home is slowly destroying me with toxic memory,
Whereas here, these leaded windows shimmer with hope's promise.

I can picture satin curtains billowing in the breeze,
Ivory, like my ill-fated wedding dress.

And my effigy of Merlyn beside the door.
You see, this house is already almost mine.

So why can I not turn this key?
Have I mistaken wishful thinking for genuine intuition?

That inside, it is mute, hollow, soulless?
At this rate, I'll be standing on this doorstep forever,

Trying to read my future in the woodgrain patterns
Beneath white paint - such a beautiful door!

I  know why you won't let me in -
You are as afraid as I am!

Afraid I'll tear out your insides,
Change you into something you never wanted to be:

Fill you to capacity with rowdy children, maybe dogs and cats too.
Have no fear, I seek only sanctury inside you.

I will come to you quietly.
Any small changes will be sympathetic, aesthetic.

No crashing, bashing, drilling or banging.
Trust me, I'll keep you much as you are.

Oh if only you knew how this threshold tortures me,
While knowledge of within is already yours.

Humbly, humbly I beg you,
Soothe my anxious mind with certainty

Of our future paths' compatibility.
You are Sun-blessed this morning - surely that

Is your way of smiling - of conveying acceptance of me?
Can you not try to speak my language?

Why must you tease me like this?
There is just one thing I want, and only you can supply it.

It is the absense of voices from the past
That constantly taunt and haunt me from the dead-centre

Of cold walls that witnessed love and lives perish
And fade into history, year after tragic year.

And I have reached breaking point - am
Stress-driven. Destination: premature death.

So please, please Sacred Mother, grant me the courage
To turn this key?

Key clicks the lock open.
For a moment, I hesitate; heart pounding, mouth dry.

The door swings open...
Sun shining through the window

Projects a homely lattice pattern across the hall floor
And I step into my future.