A Haunting
This house is made of hands
Careful fingertips that brush along your arms
Traveling up the slope of shoulders
Grasping the collar of your shirt
As you try to turn away

This house is full of fury
Trembling rage that still lingers from youth
Behind locked doors too polite to open
Behind shuttered windows to keep inside the smell
Anger blooms like vicious wild flowers

This house is a monument
Standing proud and erect despite the years
A beacon that pulses on the horizon
A howling that rides the wind
A persistent shadow that clings to your footsteps

Pull it apart
Brick by brick
By brick
The walls may be gone
But the foundation will always linger.