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The House That Stayed
There it stood, Tall yet, Dreary, Misleading, Depressed. The two-story house built for a family as a place to exist, now is growing into a deep almost dead sleep. Slowly deteriorating piece by piece, moment by moment. In a case, this half-built home is set in a pleasing field far back ,but able to be seen, from the highway. Deplorably, the family had less than amble funds for the finishing. They involuntary abandoned the subtly quaint home, Now posed to be forever in it's paralyzed domain of rage and mixed emotion. Unfathomably forgotten, Salutatory isolated from most contact, A haven asylum for different passersby, Now over growing with weeds and strange plants, Distorted from weather. It's dreary, plagued, disfigured shape looking for a longing; a purpose, Crying out, almost to say "Help me, I'm here, Come back" with deep mourning and shaken sigh. A deep, weary mourning for company that would stay, Stay like it has stayed, Stay with a bigger purpose then just for the night or until the rain cleared.
It would have been a grand home. One can only fantasize about what such a house could be. Maybe it would have been a home that had triumphant looking doors and windows. Maybe something fancy and exciting with big chandeliers, grand hallways, and beautifully hand-carved wood doors engraved with artistic symbols and figures. Even a house that everyone gawked at in awe with some sort of joyous envy, Or maybe it would have been a polite, modest home like all the rest.
This house, left with its shady discolored brown outer layer. Left with it's void, almost non-existence structure. Nothing but this structure, Towering over ready to collapse. Ready to dissolve, melt away. Anything would be better than to be looked at as some abandoned structure, to be looked as a imperfection to the eye, To be looked at as an abomination...