A House in a Dream of Mine

There was a house in a dream of mine.
It was big and wooden and blue.
It was thin and beautiful and somewhat all
I remember is the living room.
It's been a while since this house I've dreamed
came up in my thoughts.
I wondered why I thought of it,
I wondered how it caught
onto the word of "dreams",
and how, in it, I feared,
that I would fall through the wood floor,
as presence after presence neared.
The basement was a dusty place,
waiting to be painted.
The stairs to it were steep and small,
the veils of beige had fainted,
into panic, as I worried,
tried to hurry up the stairs,
without getting stuck or falling,
without getting stuck... there.
Had I been in this house before,
before this long ago dream?
Had it kept my thoughts of fears alive?
I guess it does, it seems.
Because I thought of this house today,
when illness silenced voice and caused me gloom.
Because I thought of this basement
and frightening, beautiful, creaky, living room.

-LJ
6 April 2016