My House Of Gold Poem by Yolanda Erickson

I have a house _ a house of Gold. It’s ever‑o‑ever so fine.
It’s furnished with cushions of flesh, you see, with labours of love for wine.
I longed to find my house of Gold _ for twenty some years and more.
Yet searching did not bring my house to me _ engulfed as I was in war.
'Twas war in my soul that held it back, though longing I was to see.
I never did ever suspect at all, that it would exist __ without me.

My house it sits by a Waterfall that’s crystal and never stands still.
In splashes and swirls dashing purposely fast, ignoring completely my will,
It flows round the back o‑so‑deep that I fear I never would dare to go,
For I cannot see into passages dark where I know not friend, fool or foe.
It moves past the brambles to clear out the stones, designing _ conforming a few.
Thrusts up to the surface those undreamed of jewels __ for grinding to polish anew.

I wish it were so ‑ you could see‑too my house, my beautiful house of Gold.
For you are the furnishing __ filling it so, warming _ enlarging our fold.
In walls low ‘n rambling, when left free to flow __ no cords for to stifle the soul.
Aye, clearly, what’s mine ‑ fully comes as a prize, a gift I can hold in it’s bowl.
Upholding the nobleness __ each has in full __ floods full to compassion that’s real.
Magnificent Gold that is given to me __ for labours of love that can heal.