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Someone's History

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  • Someone's History

    The building beckoned, as they do,
    With thoughts of finding something new.
    I dropped the gate and rode on o’er.
    Excited just to go explore.

    What I thought was an abandoned barn
    A stout refuge from storm, or harm,
    Was definitely something more,
    A house, a home. From years before.

    Now windowless, shingle-less, too,
    The door hung on one hinge, askew.
    Old rubble did the floors pollute,
    And glass was crunching ‘neath my boots.

    A stove, a one-time work of art.
    Inclusive of the nickel part,
    Now lay supine and punctured, split.
    Some degenerate had blasted it.

    I wondered, “Could I haul it back?
    And save it from its sad attack?
    Then fix, repair or retrofit
    And somehow make the best of it?”

    But realized, as I sometimes do
    There was no way I could renew.
    And sadly turned away; To find,
    Another treasure left behind.

    In one old bedroom near the stair,
    There was a box of letters there.
    I sat down on the dusty floor
    Soon deep in lives lived long before.

    I tucked away the words of love,
    And climbed up to the floor above.
    To find some boxes neatly stored
    With clothes and magazines galore.

    But, though the find was truly grand,
    I daren’t try to touch - with hand.
    For broken panes allowed, unchecked,
    With pigeon poop was all bedecked.

    Then, at the rafters did I stare,
    Some ancient denim dangled there,
    So long forgotten by someone,
    Tossed and left when work was done.

    Moved over to the window then,
    Looked out upon the fields again.
    I thought about this home, bereft.
    Why they came. And why they left.

    It once had shone with tender care
    As proved by what was left in there.
    Abandoned by those who had made,
    And from the landscape did they fade.

    Was death a reason? Poverty?
    Had fortune kicked them to their knees?
    Old age? Illness? Friends with flaws?
    I sighed. There must have been a cause.

    As I rode home, my thoughts were few,
    Considering a life askew.
    But grateful to have chanced to see,
    The glimpse of Someone’s History.

  • #2
    A poetic-verse-sail-ship upon a sea of narrative imagery.

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