Photo, Poem—two of a kind in the best of minds. Or the worst. You tell me.
The House. A poem (Abandoned, part 2)
This shell lingers like the aftertaste
of a charcoal-flavoured entree,
partially consumed like an afterthought
of vagrant afternoons
and post-sunset tribulations.
The book resting on your pane,
to be discovered like a subtle artefact,
woven with memory and gentle discord,
its pages read by the illiterate mountain breeze.
A page turner, nonetheless.
Throughout the halls the remnants lay,
waiting upon the rust and decay
that would make them less than useful.
Much like the old couple
who lived here before the passing storm,
when the rafters choked on smoke
and carbon monoxide was the drug of choice
(even if choice was a forced confession).
Here and there Mother Nature speaks,
disdainfully mocking the carpenter’s achievements
and bricklayer’s sandstone mastery.
She paints a vivid green commentary,
owing nothing to architectural remonstrance,
but building a memorial
that will linger like the aftertaste
of a charcoal-flavoured entree.
For more of my poetry, check out The All or the Nothing, my first book, available at most online book sellers in print or e-book formats.
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