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Fallen Home
The end of our time quickly draws near,
like the last dying breath of the faithless.
We decide to go for a walk before nightfall.
My young son and I walk to the forest together.
We often walk to see the natural world,
so that I may show him the simple wonders.
We take a shortcut through Greenhaven Drive,
a forgotten street that once ran past brick houses.
Floods tore the life from this street years ago.
We step over the thick chain blocking the entrance.
Nature has now reclaimed its rightful place
with a tangled wall of green closing in upon the old street.
The smell of honeysuckle and stagnate water gently passes
as we both walk along this path of misplaced pavement.
The thorny vines and ever lacing braches of oak and sweet gum
hinder our way as we slowly wonder through.
Here along the road out in the overgrowth,
are fallen homes from a time now passed.
Most of them are simply slabs left to crack,
but there is one fallen house that still remains.
I leave the path with my son on my shoulders.
Through the vines of cutting thorns,
and waves of little hopping, biting bugs,
we walk until we see the resting shingles.
It lies there, the dead rotting remains of a home.
The rough black shingles still in place
spreads out before us like a blanket
covering the past with dark uncertainty.
What had once protected all that lived beneath it,
has now collapsed upon that same safe place.
Bushes and weeds push their slow way up
through surrendered holes in the conquered ceiling.
The wooden frame that once held tight
all that gave comfort and contented ease
lies about in a confused and defeated mess.
The wood weeps with dark lines of seeping mold.
The walls that did stand against all that would poison,
all that would damage that fragile life
have gone completely, lost in the mud.
They keep gathered together nothing now.
A door lies against a tree, alone and broken.
No doubt it once opened to solace and peace,
but now as I toss it over, it reveals only a dark moist pit,
a haven only for vile things that keep from the light.
My son asks about the family that lived here.
“I don’t know,” I say, but we find clues
sifting around to see what we can find:
a food bowl for a pet, a baby’s toy.
Just a few pieces of the life left behind,
those not yet swallowed into the ground.
Together we imagine a dog happily begging for food,
and a baby cooing and crawling along the floor.
We picture a young family enjoying their new member,
Smiling and laughing at every little thing.
They have moved on, away from their fallen home.
Who knows where, but now we are here.
The light is fading though, sun is setting.
There’s not much time left,
but I guess we’ve seen enough here.
We should wonder back now.
My house waits with its serene comfort,
and the tangled wall of green kept safely away.
My son and I have had our two days,
His mother is on her way to take him back.
bwd
The end of our time quickly draws near,
like the last dying breath of the faithless.
We decide to go for a walk before nightfall.
My young son and I walk to the forest together.
We often walk to see the natural world,
so that I may show him the simple wonders.
We take a shortcut through Greenhaven Drive,
a forgotten street that once ran past brick houses.
Floods tore the life from this street years ago.
We step over the thick chain blocking the entrance.
Nature has now reclaimed its rightful place
with a tangled wall of green closing in upon the old street.
The smell of honeysuckle and stagnate water gently passes
as we both walk along this path of misplaced pavement.
The thorny vines and ever lacing braches of oak and sweet gum
hinder our way as we slowly wonder through.
Here along the road out in the overgrowth,
are fallen homes from a time now passed.
Most of them are simply slabs left to crack,
but there is one fallen house that still remains.
I leave the path with my son on my shoulders.
Through the vines of cutting thorns,
and waves of little hopping, biting bugs,
we walk until we see the resting shingles.
It lies there, the dead rotting remains of a home.
The rough black shingles still in place
spreads out before us like a blanket
covering the past with dark uncertainty.
What had once protected all that lived beneath it,
has now collapsed upon that same safe place.
Bushes and weeds push their slow way up
through surrendered holes in the conquered ceiling.
The wooden frame that once held tight
all that gave comfort and contented ease
lies about in a confused and defeated mess.
The wood weeps with dark lines of seeping mold.
The walls that did stand against all that would poison,
all that would damage that fragile life
have gone completely, lost in the mud.
They keep gathered together nothing now.
A door lies against a tree, alone and broken.
No doubt it once opened to solace and peace,
but now as I toss it over, it reveals only a dark moist pit,
a haven only for vile things that keep from the light.
My son asks about the family that lived here.
“I don’t know,” I say, but we find clues
sifting around to see what we can find:
a food bowl for a pet, a baby’s toy.
Just a few pieces of the life left behind,
those not yet swallowed into the ground.
Together we imagine a dog happily begging for food,
and a baby cooing and crawling along the floor.
We picture a young family enjoying their new member,
Smiling and laughing at every little thing.
They have moved on, away from their fallen home.
Who knows where, but now we are here.
The light is fading though, sun is setting.
There’s not much time left,
but I guess we’ve seen enough here.
We should wonder back now.
My house waits with its serene comfort,
and the tangled wall of green kept safely away.
My son and I have had our two days,
His mother is on her way to take him back.
bwd