It was many winter's later
I encountered the house again
on one of my strolls
down memory lane.
It was true
what folks said.
The house had died.
It stood there
like a badly cut-out
silhouette against
a sunset
a child's eager idea
of what a house
might or
should be.
It looked now
like a house
on a movie lot
all front with no back
leaning at an odd angle
to the universe.
Oh it had stood its ground
against time
but its history
had evaporated.
It was a house
no longer constructed
of children's laughter
or a never-to-be-
...forgotten summer.
As if all the excruciating
piano practicer
hadn't tumbled out of
its front porch window
to torture a cat or
the innocent passerby.
Or where a first kiss
had been stolen
by its fairy story
white picket fence gate.
It was supposed to be
pulled down
oh years and years
ago
but
her its stood
like a grisly warning
that even
human memory
can die
in time
...in time...in time. . .
I shed a sentimental
tear( oh my my )
feeling like a two-bit
actress
in a play
she was not
the heroine
of
or like a snotty nose child
in a wonky school orchestra
waiting
all the performance
through
to hit
that tiny triangle.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 4:45 AM UTC
It was many winter's later
I encountered the house again
on one of my strolls
down memory lane.
It was true
what folks said.
The house had died.
It stood there
like a badly cut-out
silhouette against
a sunset
a child's eager idea
of what a house
might or
should be.
It looked now
like a house
on a movie lot
all front with no back
leaning at an odd angle
to the universe.
Oh it had stood its ground
against time
but its history
had evaporated.
It was a house
no longer constructed
of children's laughter
or a never-to-be-
...forgotten summer.
As if all the excruciating
piano practicer
hadn't tumbled out of
its front porch window
to torture a cat or
the innocent passerby.
Or where a first kiss
had been stolen
by its fairy story
white picket fence gate.
It was supposed to be
pulled down
oh years and years
ago
but
her its stood
like a grisly warning
that even
human memory
can die
in time
...in time...in time. . .
I shed a sentimental
tear( oh my my )
feeling like a two-bit
actress
in a play
she was not
the heroine
of
or like a snotty nose child
in a wonky school orchestra
waiting
all the performance
through
to hit
that tiny triangle.
