View.

It's a mystery,
a pain,
a constant burden,
a floating bubble,
an orthodox temple,
my home.

It's a paradox,
it's full of bathos,
it's born born of lameness and frivolousness,
it is a cape of irresponsibility,
it is my brother's nonexistent sense of humor.

It's superstition,
a constant duty,
selfless consternation,
an obsolete trend,
my mother's smiling,
it lights up my day,

It's endless understanding,
it's ethereal filial love,
painstaking gifts,
for always the greater perhaps,
it is my father's ability to adopt all,
points of,
view.

This is our little world,
and,
I love it,
I repeat,
I love it.