There Was a Time

A Poem

With gilded sidings,
the house stood there for long.
Wind pushes grass and dirt
against the trim. The structure takes its
place among the stones and trees.

Memories render through this opaqueness,
like a filter. A home is a filter,
a place that carry the burden of pyramids
atop the sand dunes, and insistent sun.

The days cross each other backwards.
Small islands of crashing egos mark the time
spent there. Time spent in palaces
and bakers dens, dusted in white.

To the extreme, these places serve us
as long as they can. Falling from lips
like verses of gospels. In the grey,
they remain. Preserved and forgotten.

The grass looms against the house,
The front door re-opens.