Death of a House

"Death of a House"

On the horizon, darkened clouds
Across the windows, darkened shrouds
Boarded exits, darkened rooms;
Tension in silence; darkness looms.

No thing lives in this darkened space—
Not even those that built this place
And blocked the doors in perfect fear
Of what should but ne'er did appear

In perfect darkness in its perfect still
And a stagnant silence on its perfect hill
Its builders wanted a perfect life;
Sliced out their strife with a perfect knife

Then perfect wallpaper faded,
And perfect paint degraded,
Then, perfectly unaided,
Nature invaded.

Blockaded, degraded, and bladed
Then all held back cascaded—
    Unaided—
Because our souls we traded.