Sad House

This old house creaks and grumbles

Secrets lost amongst her myriad cracks.
No smiles shine through the murky windows;
gloom is the foundation of her brick and mortar.

Lost lives have floundered here, rattling
chains between the walls and insulation,
nibbled by rats both rodent-like and human,
man's soul being the most virulent form of pest.

At night strange cries emanate, ancient words
with no Rosetta Stone, the sound of wringing hands
and blood drip, for family wields a bitter knife,
and twists much harder than any common thief.

A sad house, she, who covers her wounds in bright
paint, a primer for how to hide the bitter truth; lies
sliding far more easily between these flaking walls.


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