THE ATTIC

The foundation is weak,
it seeks its own level.
Rusty pipes leak, joints
creak.
Red climbing roses are speckled
with peeling paint, from
decades of neglect. Age has
had its effects.
The attic bears the burden of
this house of ruptures and
fissures, storing baggage in
rafters…it is full and ready to
blow, it has capacity to hold
no more. I am hesitant to go
in, but that is not strange,
I left long ago, it was too much
for me, I split in two, leaving
my child, a part of me, behind.
But she followed me in my mind.
In my dreams I could hear her
cry, in my nightmares she would
scream.
I can bare it no longer, I have
to return, to claim what is
rightfully mine. Reaching in, I
pull her out, now with me she
shall remain.
With such weight, beams crumble,
into the house they are falling. A
soft glow of orange erupts into red
tongues of fire, consuming the rooms.
A gust of wind fans the blaze,
until little remains, but ashes and
dust, and a few childhood
remembrances, that survived this
holocaust.
The sole of a shoe that once held
my foot, covered in soot. My
pink dress smolders in cinders.
A doll looking injured with charred
eyes and lips. Her hair on edge with
scars on her head.
A book with singed ruffled edges,
opened to a nursery rhyme,
“And all fell down.” I am astounded!
Walking through the rubble, I see what
trouble the neglect of this house has
caused.
Sitting amidst ashes, tears begin to
fall. This house had been my body,
to it I had not been kind.
I really didn’t want to leave, I did not
know what else to do, if I had stayed
I would have lost my mind. This
house had been deserted, the pain
it bore, tore a hole in my soul. It
must be restored!… Hinges
must be replaced, as well as windows
and doors.
Who will do this, I must have help?
I now look to the Rebuilder of broken
walls, the Restorer of houses in
ruin. He takes the destruction and waste,
preparing a dwelling place, one that is
built with His love and grace!




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