Broken House

Once along a lonely street,

Stood a house that makes one weep.

For they can see before them,

A house that has been broken.

 

The house was once in one piece,

Silent with warmth, vibrating with peace.

A house that offers love and care,

To anyone who needs repair.

 

But good things must come to an end,

Said the people whose minds were bent.

So they went on and told everyone,

That this one house must be burnt down.

 

The house was labeled ugly, uncanny,

An odd-looking house, does not fit in society.

A peculiar thing, a sinner, and not to be emulated,

For it’s not standing by the norms they have created.

 

The gates were opened, the windows shattered,

The doors slammed open, the walls divided.

The ceiling fell down with a cry and a smash,

Floorboards collapsed with a creak and a crash.

 

Sticks, mud, and stones have been thrown,

Now the dark side of society has won.

The house that was once beautiful and noble,

Has been reduced to nothing but rubble.

 

The people looked at what they have done,

Proud to have changed another house down.

“If only the house were like ours”, told among themselves,

“We wouldn’t be here troubling ourselves!”

 

They rebuilt the house to look just like their own,

With the same hue of paint, the same kind of tone.

With its black and white walls, no one could tell,

That this house was once doomed in hell.

 

But hell is better, a wise man could say,

For this house wasn’t the same, from back in the day.

The house had lost its warmth and was now void of life,

No matter how many people now look at it with pride.

 

The house may have new walls and be newly-painted,

But that won’t make the house moving and undead.

For along its old colors washed down the drain,

Are its memories of warmth, love, and goodness it had gained.

 

On the outside the house may look solemn and orderly,

But the house really felt cold, alone, and empty.

Its life taken away, but existed just the same,

Waiting for its time to completely crumble away.

 

Being unique, queer, but being free,

Is still the best anyone and anything could be.

Rather than  being caged in a different identity,

And being told what it needed to be.

 

Looking back at its life the house could only sigh,

And hope for the day that it would die.

And die it did, after a long time of sorrow,

As the rain kissed the house goodbye, tapping on its window.

 

Once along a lonely street

Stood a house that makes one think.

For they can see before them,

A beautiful house that had been broken.

 

-CL

Jan14’14

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