There’s a house that hides amongst the trees that you might not know is there; behind a camouflage, a façade if you will.
It’s a very clever sort of house, the sort that has a face; not one, but two.
An overwhelming calm hits those who enter through the front doors; a warm hug from those home comforts to settle you right on in.
The house doesn’t care if you’re black, white, fat or thin;
leave your problems at the door and escape from reality.
Unzip the bag, sit back and bask in ones vitality.
To kick back your feet and unwind is encouraged;
the house has people who will provide a fluffy white cloud and pick up your rubbish.
You may find yourself thinking what a friendly place as everyone you meet offers everything and a smile.
Please remember there’s no contract to say you have to be anything but vile.
This is your time, your home to spend as you wish; an opportunity – a house – for our much loved narcissist.
It would be silly then, to wander through the back door if you’re having so much fun.
This door seeks qualities and encourages a longer stay;
“the price is cheap” I have to say, but for the price your life is shortened each day.
To spend 4 or 5 or maybe 6, the days mould into one as the time ticks.
But what you give the place is greatly received and it will find a way to thank you.
Many hands make light work in most situations, but this place is one of miracles and runs solely on loyalty
– can we say desperation? –
but don’t misunderstand me; family and food are where the back door devotion lies, enough to put up with a series of ties.
Frugality and ingratitude to name just two,
but the house is oblivious and far too superior: as long as everything runs they will get their free dinner.
And when the two-faced house closes its eyes for the night, two very different people head home.
One satisfied and relaxed with new stories to tell; feel my skin, smell my hair, ring my newly oiled bell.
As their head hits the pillow they are none the wiser.
The house didn’t mention snide comments and cheap polish or that their eggs came from powder;
what they see are the stars blurred convincing by white wine and chowder.
For the other they sigh
at the end of another;
and tomorrow will bring just the same.
Whilst the corridors hide every inch of sanity, they cannot claim what means the most.
For those that enter the back door of this house, leave their life and real matters outside;
it is time to encircle yourself in blue, paint on a smile and focus on negatives.
adhere to the house, put on your zombie demeanour;
the only way to become a good host.