The White House

the violet flowers 
were brightest at dusk
surrounded by an unkept yard 
they built their own landscape 
coming only once a year 
after months of ice 
they bloomed from the ground 
only at this house 
the windows smashed 
the white paint peeling 
but there wasn't an empty feeling. 
the house; abandoned, yet not forgotten
...and the violet flowers 
  were something to mask 
  the terrible things 
  of the house's past.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2012

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace