They said it was arson.
Or maybe it was a flood.
Some say it was an earthquake.
But all agree,
It destroyed everything.
The house was not standing when morning came.
Glass shards stuck out from all the little nooks
catching the light in attempts to make promises.
The wooden frames that were meant to be strong
now splintered and infested
with little needy parasites
sucking out the little stability left to those fragile lives.
There were pages of books
left scattered and ripped upon the debris
The words spilling off the pages
being washed away with the water
or foxing at the edges.
But it was not a matter of the house,
it was a matter of the home.
The faces left unrecognizable,
disfigured and mutated
like death had come and cast a spell
over all of their wretched world.
Nothing was left.
It was all in ruins.
And so was I.