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The Broken House Sits Empty
A stretched road cuts through endless plains of fear and hope.
The broken house sits empty. Cracked panes. Fallen shingles. Chipped paint.
Reflections of passerby's persist.
The windows are a theater, the movie is sorrowed anger, but who is the viewer?
The funeral procession, a police chase, a hate parade, the family drowned in want. The movie appears to running on long.
A rusty mailbox nailed to the front door is half cracked open; forever taking mail as if it had a choice.
Final notices, advertisements, a foreclosure notice, a call from the draft.
In the front yard the tattered remains of a flag flutters on a bent pole in the hopes that someone will one day free it. The silent protests to a country that failed.
Dulled light from a censored sun apprehensively pours into a graffiti covered garage through scattered bullet holes and fire damage.
Darkened light illuminates a wrecked car that sits on punctured tires and blocks of gold. No insurance. The owners lost and forgotten.
Ripped books scatter the floor of a living room while an unplugged T.V glows. It's playing the movie.
Tilted pictures show a family putting on a facade. Ephemeral friends smile with no teeth and crossed fingers.
A half-eaten meal is still hot on the table. Above, a tarnished cross waits.
The family's are jobs liquidated, like the remains of their closest possessions. The rainy day fund's experienced a hurricane.
In the backyard a frail woman unknown to world pours her tears and last desires into the hardened dirt of a yard who wants nothing more than to be mowed.
She hopes that maybe a flower will grow.
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The 2nd part of a four poem collection entitled "The Forgotten Road," this essay was meant to contain an array of symbolic refrences that not only comment on the state of ourselves, but of society as a whole. The entire time, all painting the picture of a rundown house with a tragic past.