At Home

Inside the house, but it feels I am nowhere near my home

That I had in my dreams; it is a place, where I rest but thoughts flit about

Edgy doors and windows unsure of the sentiments

A growing contradiction is visible- weather outside is indifferent

The night will be over, the morning will arrive on time

Life will knock at the door and pull me out of my uneasy comfort

Of accepting the circumstance and existential dilemma

My murmurs may have been heard by the elves

I was not trying to weave a tale but writing uncontrollably

Using all the ink, because I cannot spill them frantically

What may translate from them is over to their interpretations

Whether to stay in and continue, will trouble the darkness


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