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Showing posts from January, 2017

A Broken House Sits Empty

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A stretched road cuts through endless plains of fear and hope.

The broken house sits empty. Cracked panes. Fallen shingles. Chipped paint.

Reflections of passersby persist.

The windows are a theater, the movie is sorrowed anger, but who is the viewer?

The funeral procession, a police chase, a hate parade, the family drowned in want. The movie appears to be running on long.

A rusty mailbox nailed to the front door is half cracked open; forever taking mail as if it had a choice.

Final notices, advertisements, a foreclosure notice, a call from the draft.

In the front yard, the tattered remains of a flag flutter on a bent pole in the hopes that someone will one day free it. The silent protests to a country that failed.

Dulled light from a censored sun apprehensively pours into a graffiti-covered garage through scattered bullet holes and fire damage.

Darkened light illuminates a wrecked car that sits on punctured tires and blocks of gold. No insurance. The owners lost and forgotten.

Ripped books sc…