The Haunted House

The Haunted House 5/25/2012

The old house is on the market
And I wonder what they think
Maybe that its sad,
Or maybe that its funny
That my family and my castle
Are all gone and wasted.

Just another vacant shell
Abandoned to time
Occupited only by the memories
Of a suburban ghost.

This story is not special
And I know its not unique
Because countless others
Know how it feels
To see a part of themselves
Sold for a song.

Soon someone else
Will walk around the rooms
Putting their things away
And cavort in the yard.

Their children will play
And run up and down the halls
Laughing and giggling
Where my own kids
Once laughed and played.

They will put their books
In the shelves that I built
And they will sit by the fire
And stare at the flames.

They will never know
What dreams I had there
And they will never understand
What nightmares I endured.

The sleepless nights
That alcohol couldn’t kill
And the incredible cruelty
Of misfortune and betrayal.

Their feet will walk
On the same floors
And they will shower
In the same stall
Without any thought
About who, why, where and when.

They will never know
That it was me
Who cut into the walls
And floored the attic.

That it was me
Who bled on the floor
And spread out the paint
Brushing it onto the walls
And letting it soak in.

That my prayers still echo
In the vaults of the ceiling
Forever reverberating
In a house of murdered dreams.

It isn’t about me
And it isn’t about the house
Just another cookie cutter
Built, bought, and sold
For instant consumption.

No my dreams
Are not contained
By four walls and a door
And my purpose
Cannot be defined
By who I was
Or what I lost.

There is nothing gained
Without something lost
And there is nothing as brilliant
As what we learn
Along the way.

A new world is born
In the ashes of the old
Rising up with wings of fire
To grasp at life
Pure, free, and bold.