Wednesday, December 7, 2011


A three year old house walks on one pillar hanging onto hope. The walls are currently cracking at their ankles Blood of pain running from the window pane rain refrains from cleaning its presense. His world shaken by his earths actions.

She didn’t know her movements would cause him to crumble until she left the wind to slam the door unlocked. The stained walls cry so far outward leaving the foundation vulnerable. The broken truths and memories walks in each rooms scaring whoever wants to live here. The stairs to heaven have spilled into the basement where love now cowers under leftover debris. Picture faces burned into the ceiling now die and alone on the floor.

Reflections transformed into dust return to what it came. There is a hole where the first tree once was planted.. Now words will never again nurture the tree into leaves. The three leaves that lived on two branches has left for all four season.

Breath ceases to move through what was sacred space. Love has drowned in its own depth. The dead have not intentions of living here in fear of haunted nightmares that shake the snakes that wrap around slaves necks hanging from the door frame supports the love that once walked in and out this house that now walks alone on one pillar..

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