05-23-2011, 07:12 PM
The house is proud but old this day and you
still here, the porch at rest beneath your toes,
approach the lawn in tennis shoes while blue
sky holds the house's gaze; the structure knows
we're leaving now, and sighs with waning grace
as floorboards settle in to rot, the dust
on sideboards breeding then, the antique face
of one dead clock damning this household rust.
We walked each hall, locking every single door
where once daylight was hid behind, the blank
windows regarding it as simple law;
we must obey. How to explain the cold dank
smell which sprung from every cranny then, while
we crossed the dark front hall, echoing tile.
still here, the porch at rest beneath your toes,
approach the lawn in tennis shoes while blue
sky holds the house's gaze; the structure knows
we're leaving now, and sighs with waning grace
as floorboards settle in to rot, the dust
on sideboards breeding then, the antique face
of one dead clock damning this household rust.
We walked each hall, locking every single door
where once daylight was hid behind, the blank
windows regarding it as simple law;
we must obey. How to explain the cold dank
smell which sprung from every cranny then, while
we crossed the dark front hall, echoing tile.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe