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The Derelict

by Matthew Devlin about a year ago in sad poetry
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The death of a house ...

The house is dying.

Water leaks in,

Down into the walls,

Causing slow decay.

Withering cold air currents

Slip in through cracks.

In her brick and mortar skin,

Lie the ghosts of the dead

Trying to find rest,

But seeing only empty corners.

In the morning light,

The house is almost lovely,

Her bricks a delicious ginger.

But by midday

The fade in the shutters,

Cracks in the glass,

Crumbling mortar,

All the anonymous wounds,

Are suddenly revealed.

Like a slow old horse,

Her center sags,

Bones weakened by time

And overuse.

Her end is coming,

But she longs to be full

Just one last time,

Before the monsters,

Puffing their sick black smoke,

Tear her to shreds.

sad poetry

About the author

Matthew Devlin

Because I was born with a disability, I was never able to keep up with my peers, so I spent most of my time reading and dreaming. Dreaming more than anything. From those dreams, stories emerged, and so began my love affair with writing.

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