Home Is

Dark house, cracking glory in the cool dusky hours of Fall. Green wooden shutters bend their intended horizon Looking sleepy and forgotten. Once climbing tendrils have reached their potential Stuck in a growing limbo Crying for some place to grow. Neglected house Covered in crumbling history and stolen light. They were so happy Once Embraced with spicy wooden beams and Christmas trees. Time has prevented their return. And tightlipped I, alone as sole witness, To the majestic yesterday and foreboding present Watch the future get buried.