Angela Grout, Author
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In the house with seven doors, there lies more than just a family.
The lamp that once was lit by gas now has a cord. This lamp simply stands by a blue glass that was never used by me.
In the house with seven doors, Dr. Suess sits on the wall where the wallpaper says it all. With swirls and stars in warm colors of red, it reminds me of those that bled.
In the house with seven doors, there lies a staircase ever worn with love, its beauty stands to walk a path where once my grandparents stood.
In the house of seven doors, there lies the floor you did walk upon, without stopping you looked and touched all that was yours.
In the house of seven doors, a breath of joy remains, as truths are told and goodness unfolds sharing the code of a love that is so dear. The blue glass sits to tell the stories of the old yet to unfold.
In the house of seven doors, there are brunettes that live to share the secrets of all the stairs on a street called Longview Street.
The house of seven doors shares the long view of life and love so bright that all must share to shine their own light.
In the house of seven doors, all are welcome by the warmth of a cozy night to sit amoung the living that write reasons to sing.
In the house of seven doors, there is a place for everything. Free to say, to go, to take what speaks your name. For within these walls you will see there is so much more for you and me.
The house of seven doors has a new garage, a place to hand your coat, and a butler to welcome you, reminding you of what you need to do,
The house of seven doors is very gald to meet you.
Michaelangelo, Ms Cora, Mr. Thomas, Rose, Frank, John, Rosa, Billy, Suzie, and all the Capuanos.
The family tree has been kept and you are the one that can see exactly who needs to sit when they pee.
In the April Rain, you understand its a place to grow and see where you are meant to be.
In the house of seven doors, wide eyes understand the songs longing to be set free.
For music or a screen, the words will be for those who hear.. Have no distress, just open a door and you will see that you free.
For in the end, it is not about them. It's about the key that was given to me. When it's used, you will see that you never really needed any key from me.
The portal of light can be seen at night.
It's your choice, open a door or look through the keyhole. Knock, turn the handle, you don't need the key, though it's there as a metaphor for all to see.
For in the house of seven doors, thirty five minutes is only a minute...and a tall man will wave to you at the right moment.
The piece to know is that every door is perfect just as you were made.
Shine Bright...Share words...many long to hear a voice not filled with fear.
Exhale, Breathe, Everything is all right.
Categories: Poetry
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