CUL-DE-SAC

Each house has a story. And some might have two.

But I don’t mean two levels or what lives in the walls

Because house walls are dead. So’s a floor and a ceiling. 

The story’s about who will move in or move out.  

A home’s a way station and the story’s about  

A lonely old man. A big family that breaks up.

Could not pay the mortgage. An investor then flips it

The house has been sold and then passing time tips it

From fortune to backslide. The district’s run down.

Could be an old house on the wrong side of town.

When it’s empty of life it becomes like a quarry

That scavengers pillage for another one’s story.

Floorboards and molding. Ripped out. End up elsewhere.

Old wood turns to rot. The old paint, it’s been peeling. 

I’m not in that place yet I’m getting a feeling 

That I’m that old man in a big empty house. 

When the daylight dies down and I turn on the lights

I see walls, floors and windows. A priest whispers last rites.  

Because life goes on elsewhere and this space only echoes

The loan has been paid and all the history’s been made.

This entry was posted on January 17, 2026 at 6:24 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.