Sometimes sunshine streams through the windows, <br />like a tossled head of hair. Bright and solid light <br /> <br /> <br />that opens the room to dangling frames of dust. <br />The dust collects itself under the furniture. <br /> <br />Hiding, transforming, resisting change. It becomes <br />its own entity, its own statement. Gradually the dust <br /> <br />overcomes the sunshine and the room is again bleached <br />in bleakness. Voices are gradual, distant sounding, as they <br /> <br />try and survive in the dirty room. Sometimes sunshine <br />streams through the windows like a growing sense of doom. <br /> <br />Hard and harsh vibrancy that collides with the anticipation <br />of the occupants. They are uncertain how to proceed with <br /> <br />their daily routines. Like the dust, they collect themselves into <br />arbitrary points of views. Mangled intentions that are never <br /> <br />stated, but instead are felt like rotting fruit in a basket. <br /> The smell permeates all areas of reality as it dominates the <br /> <br />passion of the souls. They moan in obligation. They whine in <br />muted patterns of surrender as they whip around the room <br /> <br />like the dust floating painfully in the air. Sometimes sunshine <br />streams through the windows, like a bloated body in water. <br /> <br />The beginning of the race always promises to have an ending. <br />The ending always promises to begin again. But the room will <br /> <br />always stay as it is, dust and doom its statement to the world. <br />And, sometimes, sunshine streams through the windows<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sometimes-sunshine-streams-through-the-windows/
