The Daily Poem

THE DREAM OF THE BURNING HOUSE

The floors are all on fire and the walls

are glowing red with sheets of steaming ice.

I don my metal slippers lined with fur

and follow out the door the fleeing mice.

One turns to me with crimson eyes and says,

"It's not the fire, it's you we're running from."

"But why, " I say, "I've only ever thought

of you as friends who share my gypsy rum."

The ceiling crashes down between us swamped

in flames, and diving down the stairs I fly.

I mean I really fly. It's awesome how

I've suddenly escaped. I don't know why.

And then I'm on the snowy grass outside,

just watching as the house goes up in smoke.

I want to cry for all the lovely things

I've lost, but burst out laughing, "What a joke!"

"Go on and laugh, you stinking cad, I hate

the way you manage to be free of pain."

I turn around to find the voice and there

in tears, my brother, leaning on his cane.

"Don't cry," I say, "I've loved you every day.

I've missed your eyes of soft philosophy."

And suddenly, he's just a small-faced boy.

I lift him up and say, "Come stay with me."

D. Edgar Lamp

TheDailyPoem691

Elegiac Quatrains

Oak Harbor, Washington

Lat: 48' 17.6" N, Long: 122' 38.6" W

JOURNAL: Ivan & Virginia Lathrop's House

~ The Daily Poet