This _____

Friday, December 05, 2008

These hinges are bent.
The framework,
Of once great doors,
Is now bent.
Too long have they
Been leaned on.

These hallways are empty.
The walls,
Once filled with glorious whispers,
Are now empty.
Too long have they
Been cried in.

This building is pale.
The shingles,
Which once repelled the storm,
Leak through to countless buckets.
Too long have they
Been doubted upon.

This garden is brown.
The flowers,
Once the lust of the butterflies,
Are all wilted.
Too long have they
Been neglected.

These roads are cracked.
The lines,
Once vibrantly known,
Are now faded black.
Too long have they
Been depended on.

But the air is not stagnant.
The wind
Can only be seen through the leaves,
It is still pure.
It was always there,
But these lungs never breathed what they needed.