Image Credit: Breadmaker/

So perfect our home
The white so bright
The sterile sense
Of everything untouched
By day or night
Reflecting us

When did we turn
Into the ghosts
That roam these perfect rooms?
When did we better treat
The fabric of the covers
Than the roses that might bloom
In windows in the sunlight
Or somewhere in our hearts
When did that start?

We never speak
For words would rock serenity
The white stillness of this place
I’ve forgotten what you sound like
I can’t recall your face
We’re alien in rooms
We take up too much space
All alone
In our perfect home

(c) Helen Valentina 2019

About Helen

I'm drawn to blogging as a way to share ideas and consider what makes us who we are. Whether it's in our working life or our creativity, expression is a means to connect.
This entry was posted in Earth, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Perfect

  1. I enjoyed this one, Helen. Sometimes we all feel we take up too much space. Well done

  2. philipparees says:

    Pithy, sharp and apposite Helen. Too true of so many!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s