Under rugs, swept—are mouths closed, lips shut; filled with secrets that should not be kept. There are floor boards where the rot has crept. Mildew grows where eyes have wept.
Under rugs, swept—is all the shame you've catalogued, locked away, hid; memories of when I was just a kid. I didn't know, but someone did, just exactly what was happening to me.
Under rugs, swept—are goals and dreams and aspirations; failures, trials, and tribulations. All I needed was a little patience, until I could gather my head.
A life under a rug is covered. A life without air, smothered.
A silent life—a life set still—begs for beauty, with all its frills.
But it's just a floor, not a window sill.
Under rugs, swept.Read More