Control

They handed me keys with a smile so wide,

A dream wrapped in bricks, with space to reside.

But ink on that paper, so crisp and so clean,

Was the shackle unseen, in a contract so keen.

The garden, the gate, the warm painted wall,

Came tethered to whispers I tried to forestall.

Each month, like a master, the payment arrives—

A tithe to the lender so my shelter survives.

I boast of "my home," yet deep down I know,

The one who holds title is silent but so—

Patient and poised, with power so stark,

The bank is the owner; I just leave my mark.

Miss once or twice, feel the leash start to tug,

No grace in the system, no soft, loving hug.

You borrowed the dream, but the price was control,

Your mortgage a collar, your freedom the toll.

So do not let the curtains and couches deceive,

The borrower kneels each time they believe.

The house may be yours in paint and in tone,

But until it is all paid, you are not truly home.