Shelter

An old man showed his grandson
The red-latticed edifice of a temple he had raised
The boy looked on wondrously and solemnly
For his grandfather had built walls to hold up the sky
And created a canopy that would shelter him all his days.

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Mother’s Shade

I did not realize
That eternity
Was built
On the backs of people.
And took for granted
The loved ones
Providing shelter
To one like me.
If only I had told
Of my gratefulness sooner
And learned how
To architect my own.

Ice Queen

These simple words which stays the harsh whip’s lash
And bold-faced arrangement which eschews artifice
Are the bare cupboards of a kitchen
Removed of bon-bons and honeyed treats.
These worn walls are my heart
This scrape, a knife-wound from a careless vagrant.
No longer do I spread a sumptuous feast;
I offer nothing but shelter and a worn chair:
A kindness, if only you chose to see it.