In happier times, it had been a shelter.
The wind would blow and the rain would fall,
But those who lived there felt no cold,
And knew no fear. The floors were sure
Beneath their feet, the walls secure,
And over their heads there hung a roof.
Living there made them strong.
Now its name is Desolation.
The walls had seen everything,
And now they tell it all
With wordless sighs borne
On empty winds that slip
Down barren halls like ghosts.
No one sings to the tune
Of freshly baking bread.
No one gathers around the table,
No one says grace, and no one speaks.
Those who live there wear heavy clothes,
Hoping to keep themselves warm,
And huddle all alone to give themselves comfort.
Alone, they seek refuge from what once gave them shelter,
And find together that their greatest strength
Has become their greatest source of grief.
You are strong as a tree and as mighty as an oak
That has been eaten from the inside.
On the day that your strength is gone
And you break from the burden you will not give voice,
I will be there for you, even if this house is gone.
Copyright © 2007 by David Learn. Used with permission.
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