This House

A poem of an end and a beginning.

This House
Forgotten
Dark, shutters closed long ago, wood rotting and jagged, nails bent and rusty
Waiting to snag the reckless
The smell of despair and disrepair
Air as still as a mausoleum
Furniture crouching silently – waiting patiently for yesterday
Pale images a reminder of that which once was
Color faded, movement stilled, light dimmed, love lost
Sitting silently in the darkness, longing for escape
Memories stale, recall slowly scrubbed away by the ages
Time indistinguishable in the preternatural fog that filters through careless cracks
Sunken eyes shift towards a mirror, gazing into eternity
A crack appears in a corner and a razor of light splits the blackness, blade of light cutting through the dust
Outstretched hand tracing the beam to its source, touching the crack
The facade dissolves
Brilliant mirror shattering, a deluge of fire spills in
Chairs, tables, furnishings circling madly, vortex violently devouring all
Liquid incandescence lovingly embracing every door, every rafter, every chair
Fire scours away all that has gone wrong
Flames recede, taking all secrets with them
The house is no more
I am Free
Yesterday has returned
I begin to walk

Author: ldinlove

I live with my family, two cats, and at any given moment: ten dear, two turkeys, ten chicks, ten billion ants, ten thousand bees and wasps, two white rabbits, twenty angry squirrels, one occasional bear ( occasional works for me), a couple of snakes, the neighbor's stray dogs, and one very friendly skunk.

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