A Poem from Adolesence
Each day I pass, on my way to school, two contrasting houses.
The second’s shut tight.
It’s dark and foreboding.
It looks like it’s ready for war.
Curtains pulled tight.
Not a slight crack of light.
The dark house is all about hoarding.
In the other folks share.
They help and they care.
Each action itself is rewarding.
As I take my studies I think of these houses
and know in which one I’ll live.
Not the dark shuttered palace filled with bile and malice
but in the place everyone gives.