The windows are dusty here.
Nothing touched for ages.
A place forgotten in the 
Hustle and bustle of life.

A room locked away
In hopes of surviving 
Long enough to see it again.
Walls built to protect.
To hold my peace, my joy. 
Keeping it safe for a 
Time worthy of their presence.

None the wiser that the 
Sanctuary I created
Would be a prison 
In which peace and joy 
Would live their days out
Forever praying for an escape.

And so, the furniture is stale here.
Nonetheless, welcoming all the same.
Pleading for a guest to sit
And pour out stories of 
Adventures and love. 
Begging for company,
Of which I now must oblige.

Thus, I sit on the surface 
Of the worn out couch,
I stare out the window 
Full of cobwebs and dust.
And I reminisce. 

On a life long forgotten,
But mine. 
Whence joy and peace
Roamed about,
Unshackled by fear and heartbreak.

My eyes peruse the room.
A room now unlocked, 
A door now opened,
And I feel at home,
Even in the mess.
Because the mess makes 
The view more beautiful.
A striking resemblance 
To the truth within.

The beauty and the chaos,
The pain and the joy.
The dust and the rays
Of a perfect sunshine 
On a rainy morning.

It’s irony, and yet,
It’s unabashedly me.
A truth only now I entertain.
Grief and Joy can live 
In the same shoes.
Peace and Chaos can 
Reign together.
I refuse to let life tell 
Them otherwise.
Not anymore. 

And so, the room is musty here.
Yet a gentle breeze now stirs,
And sunlight spills across the floor,
Signaling the end of chains.
A new beginning.

Or perhaps an old one rekindled,
Where past and future intertwine,
And sorrow and joy
Move freely in a dance of 
A life well lived.