This house,
no, THAT house
held many things.
In it’s wall grew
a tangle of thoughts, emotions, musings wanderings,
knotted together with desire, hope, love and courage
decaying with anger, misunderstanding, insecurity and indifference
This house,
no, THAT house
was built on a strong
yet unsteady foundation
of fascination
That house (yes, I’ve learnt it now)
burned down with anger.
Bellowing flames
pouring out of tiny windows.
The smoke rose in great, dense clouds
roared and flared
light bulbs exploded,
windows shattered
doors burst open
in and out
in and out.
The occupants inside singed their throats with their screaming.
Burnt their hands with their clawing, their frustration, their anger.
Huffed and Puffed
and blew THAT house
down.
All the while the fire raged on
(simmered, then raged, then simmered, then had to be kindled)
And one day
the fire died
(as all fires usually do)
And there was nothing but a quiet creaking house, swaying in the wind.
Lonely on a hill
Crooked
Bent
……….
The one weeps
for tangled thoughts
and knotted words
and buried hopes
and heavy silences that stretch
the damp walls of an insane house
with no occupants
except one crazy heart
and one reluctant fool
who leaves and returns
with nothing on that tongue
but caution and lust.
The one weeps
For these crazy occupants
with tangled emotions
and knotted words
who neither love nor hate
Nor stand nor sit
who hover somewhere
between heaven and hell
The one walks through the house
Running fingers over peeling wallpaper
Inspects burnt floorboards
Stopping to listen
to creaking eaves
rustles in the attic
a faint voice of the imagination,
runs a finger over dust on the mantelpiece
sits on the floor,
suddenly.
Weeps
for the blood-stained floor
the splintered drawers
of past-battles
forgotten
the notes etched in the walls
the whispers hanging in the rafters
the sighs pressed against the windows
The house groans
waiting to fall
waiting for the one to walk out
and shut the door behind
so that it may collapse
peacefully
quietly
finally
as if it had never existed
as if the walls did not hold stories
as if the rooms did not hold thoughts
as if the ceilings did not hold secrets
as if the carpets did not hold pain
as if the house did not hold love
As if it had never existed.