The Clothesline

talking about incisive mind; my life's laid bare on my clothesline right under the sun if noosy neighbour really knows where to read it. our laughters and moods trail with the frills, shades pastels, chiffons a myriad shapely wear that dance in the morning breeze; a party in the open. the butterflies and bees lose out to their allure; a cartoonist's inner world at work as we figure all the characters in the wear trooping through the avenue with their infectious laughters. in the dawn of a new season how the shapes have changed, and the colours fly away like autumn. the dull colours! the dull colours! how they invade my clothesline, my life. the falling leaves! the falling crown! how everything start giving up on each other split, broken, trail with the wind! the void! the void! Right in this warm blooded creature! So cold the days finally become... my clothesline, the delicate theatre of my life that trails with the wind day in and day out. if only the noosy neighbour know where to read all my secrets; they dance in the winds... each morning.... when the sun is bright and the wind blowing.... this morning i watch with witheld tears alone knowing full well some shirts will never return to the line.