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A family is supposed to be home

a yonder umbrella

from reality's mighty blow

A smile lies on the door

but a frown opens it

Beauty blossoms in the windows

when hatred and chaos

surges within

Two sacred rooms, cherished

and polish

Two different lives rule within

One is a tempest, the other

is a melody of highs and lows

Times are good, pancakes fly

and mustard bears smiles

The tea is served when the

sky is blue, and the sun

swallows the children whole

Bad times are rare but not obsolete

the voices raise mountains of temper

and objects fly, miles and miles

A china breaks, one is hurt

the other paralyzed with guilt

Not everyone is perfect. And

maybe the architects weren't

so sure either.

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