Family Crest - Signals Midwest

I can hear every noise this house makes, supported by a skeleton of steel.

The termites eat away at the foundation and it’s only a matter of time.

And your family crest hangs on a frame in the hallway next to a painting that

you made when you were 10, and each brush stroke glares a reminder of a simpler

time when we were more concerned with living life than with what it meant.

Enveloping and circling my mental state.

This house is empty;

every sound reverberates.

So I plug my ears and try not to communicate but it has taken hold.

I keep a notebook under my desk so I can write all my dreams down,

or at least what of them I remember when I wake.

Spending hours scanning the pages for some indication that these dreams and

life might somehow intertwine.

Because more than anything, I just want to believe it;

that we all end up just

where we should.

And we can all have faith in the decisions we make under shelters of concrete

and wood.

So I evaluate the options I’m presented with.

Navigate these notions of embarrassment.

Long to learn