Head in Clouds, Feet on Ground: The Old House: A poem

I visited the old house today,

The windows glazed over with dust.

The plaster peeling

Seepage here and there

Rubbish strewn about

The wiring loose in places,

The plumbing a bit off.

The patina of Time is not attractive.

I came here with wonder,

Eyes full of dreams.

I built a home in this house,

Filled it with laughter,

The gurgles of children,

The pattering feet.

I added storage,

A place for everything.

The House embraced it all.

Now it creaks and seeps.

Accusingly it weeps;

“You left me,” it says,

“Others occupied me,

Doing as they pleased,

Their comfort wreaked havoc

On me.

“You come and paint me from time to time

Add some plaster, scrub away the grime,

And leave again, glad

That I seem all right.

You don’t see I am sad,

Giving up a little every year.

They say I look fine

For my vintage.

“But you! You should know

You lived in me after all!

Lizards dart out now and then

Mostly hidden.

I am tired now.

“So much wrong with me.

Maybe it would be better

To demolish me and start over

Brick by brick,

Or cell by cell?”

Head in Clouds, Feet on Ground