by shira
It was slammed down hard
That piece of wood that hides the house
Sitting on top of every hill
Your eyes spare themselves from staring down
Little birds and smaller monsters hide themselves away in there
To be forgotten, swindled, then desired
By lonesome travelers in dark gray suits
By wandering children with untied shoes
It was smelling far too strong
To be replaced by rose petals
That photograph was made of dust
And swore on its life to remember us
I tried to block it out with sun
I tried to make it dry with rain
If I could do it all again
I’d lay it to rest with honest lies
Smaller lives find better times
To repopulate the earth
With unseen heroic flaws
Those unloved claim as their own
It was far too bright one night
And a neighboring man went to find the source
Of every pain and withering street united in his head
He walked into the back yard shed
And into the invisible house
And up into the make-believe tower
And he found you safe with me
