Another long week done and gone along with Christmas. Now I just have to get through New Year's and then onto new things. Until next time I leave you with this poem:
The House
In the edges of a clearing
birds talk and animals walk.
In the center a house
sits abandoned and empty.
Nothing goes near
for they fear her.
The laughter and love
now dead memories.
She shivers and cries
with each cold breath.
The earth reclaiming it
to what it once was.
Her back is broken and she sags
but she refuses to fall down.
Her broken windows cry
whenever the sun shows pity.
The crumbling chimney is trying
to defy its age but losing.
The rusting glider and broken toys
gives clues but no answer to her past.
The tarnished hinges sag under the weight
of her splintered and swollen door.
The darkness spills forth from her belly.
The dancing shadows reveal her
rotting staircase, blackness up and down.
To the left her living room
with its molding davenport.
An ancient clock, now sprung, was her heartbeat.
Faded and warped pictures hang
crooked from her peeling walls.
They tell stories that she has long forgotten.
A room beyond is her kitchen.
The Christmas dinners carefully prepared
on her stove and in her ovens.
The smells of meats and pies that once
wafted through her halls now gone.
Her busted cabinets of the finest wood
shows off the chipped and destroyed China.
An empty room next to the kitchen with its ripped
tapestry and threadbare rugs was her dining room.
The marks on the floor where a table
and chairs stood sentry for decades.
A shattered chandelier hangs high and glistens
from a hole that has been punched in her side.
As the sunlight permeates the hole
another room of hers is lit.
A haunting melody flows forth
from the Victrola's horn.
The once grand piano now unplayable
with its broken keys and stings.
Bricks fall and emtomb the fireplace.
Back to her hall and down the stairs
to the darkness of her basement.
The only light, a dirt smudged window.
Crudely made benches for repair.
Stone encased rooms for storage.
A leaking hulk of an oil furnace.
Nothing more than that.
Up and up to where her back now rests.
It divides the upper floor in half.
Her bathroom exploded from the collapse.
Porcelain and glass litter her floor.
Twisted pipes of steel juxtapose the wall.
Her bedrooms largely empty save for some
scraps of cloth trying to hid her shame.
Perfect rectangles adorn the walls.
Scratches mar the floors where
dressers and beds once rested.
Across the way another room is revealed.
A doll sits with cracked & faded buttons
and a smile from a wisp of thread.
The dolls falls and a puff of dust rises.
As if the weight of the doll falling
was too much she cries out in pain.
She begins to tremble and shake, plaster falls.
Nails pull loose from her bones.
Her ribs break setting off a chain reaction.
The roof folds in to the second floor.
It's too much for her to take and
she lets go collapsing into her self.
In the dust swirled aftermath the once
steadfast chimney sways with no support.
In one last graceful bow it comes to
rest on top of her dusty remains.
The disarray of bricks form a
cross as if to bless her passing.
In the edges of a clearing
birds talk and animals walk.
In the center a house
sits crushed and broken.
Nothing goes near
for they fear her.
The House
In the edges of a clearing
birds talk and animals walk.
In the center a house
sits abandoned and empty.
Nothing goes near
for they fear her.
The laughter and love
now dead memories.
She shivers and cries
with each cold breath.
The earth reclaiming it
to what it once was.
Her back is broken and she sags
but she refuses to fall down.
Her broken windows cry
whenever the sun shows pity.
The crumbling chimney is trying
to defy its age but losing.
The rusting glider and broken toys
gives clues but no answer to her past.
The tarnished hinges sag under the weight
of her splintered and swollen door.
The darkness spills forth from her belly.
The dancing shadows reveal her
rotting staircase, blackness up and down.
To the left her living room
with its molding davenport.
An ancient clock, now sprung, was her heartbeat.
Faded and warped pictures hang
crooked from her peeling walls.
They tell stories that she has long forgotten.
A room beyond is her kitchen.
The Christmas dinners carefully prepared
on her stove and in her ovens.
The smells of meats and pies that once
wafted through her halls now gone.
Her busted cabinets of the finest wood
shows off the chipped and destroyed China.
An empty room next to the kitchen with its ripped
tapestry and threadbare rugs was her dining room.
The marks on the floor where a table
and chairs stood sentry for decades.
A shattered chandelier hangs high and glistens
from a hole that has been punched in her side.
As the sunlight permeates the hole
another room of hers is lit.
A haunting melody flows forth
from the Victrola's horn.
The once grand piano now unplayable
with its broken keys and stings.
Bricks fall and emtomb the fireplace.
Back to her hall and down the stairs
to the darkness of her basement.
The only light, a dirt smudged window.
Crudely made benches for repair.
Stone encased rooms for storage.
A leaking hulk of an oil furnace.
Nothing more than that.
Up and up to where her back now rests.
It divides the upper floor in half.
Her bathroom exploded from the collapse.
Porcelain and glass litter her floor.
Twisted pipes of steel juxtapose the wall.
Her bedrooms largely empty save for some
scraps of cloth trying to hid her shame.
Perfect rectangles adorn the walls.
Scratches mar the floors where
dressers and beds once rested.
Across the way another room is revealed.
A doll sits with cracked & faded buttons
and a smile from a wisp of thread.
The dolls falls and a puff of dust rises.
As if the weight of the doll falling
was too much she cries out in pain.
She begins to tremble and shake, plaster falls.
Nails pull loose from her bones.
Her ribs break setting off a chain reaction.
The roof folds in to the second floor.
It's too much for her to take and
she lets go collapsing into her self.
In the dust swirled aftermath the once
steadfast chimney sways with no support.
In one last graceful bow it comes to
rest on top of her dusty remains.
The disarray of bricks form a
cross as if to bless her passing.
In the edges of a clearing
birds talk and animals walk.
In the center a house
sits crushed and broken.
Nothing goes near
for they fear her.