Something that always makes me remember my parents house, and how it once seemed to a young child growing up there, before it became the hulking ruin it eventually turned into.
The house had a secret life concealed within
Though externally the surface was drab and plain,
Nothing to draw attention at all-
Dusty and dank, with every sort of stain.
But at a certain season and hour of darkness
Punctuated with rays of random moon:
The inner soul of the place came apparent
The greyness fell away and took with it the gloom.
Then the walls would blaze with a turquoise hue,
The kitchen had a lively checkerboard tile.
On the bathroom walls in the muted blue sea
The red fish and mermaids began to smile.
The scalloped mantle was glossy and white,
The wood floors shone to reflect the rays,
All the crystal glass knobs and findings
Collected, throughout the long, polished days.
The house remembered the clinking of goblets
Wielded by languorous guests on the lawn;
Nights were passed long and comely,
And scattered coffee cups greeted the dawn.
Now weeds have grown up through the cracks in the walk-
The house is forgotten and falling apart
But the life that once flourished between the timbers
Is safely preserved in the house of the heart.
great poem patti