These walls are tired,
Chipping and dented,
With dusted windows
Scattering any light
Spreading the shadows
Undefined, but terrifying.
These walls are tired,
Thin, slowly swaying
Breathing in the wind
Waning against collpase
Straining only to bend.
These walls are tired,
Empty and untouched
Moaning in the dark
Trembling and alone
Frozen in the last moments
They were called a home.
These boards, fallen in
Silent under the storm
They could not stand
These boards broken.
© 2006 Charlotte Thompson
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