Poem: The House on Mansassas Battlefield

The House on Manassas Battlefield

You are like the house, grey in the rain,
it's windows gaping and boarded up,
it's door nailed shut,
abandoned, forsaken

after a generation of neglect
left it a shell of what it once was,
no longer loved and worse,
somehow at fault

because of that same lack of love,
and no longer worthy,
it's brick walls and foundation
no longer seen

as a place to build upon,
a beginning point
to restore the glory,
reclaim the strength

of what once was,
to reclaim it's place
of comfort and protective power,
until you are alone,

a curious wreck,
passed by each day
with gawkers who mostly ignore you,
and the few who don't stare and wonder

what happened
and why
and for how long
and that special one looks

and sees what was and can be again
and wonders
"what if?"
and stops long enough

to peer in the one open window
and then believe
when others did not
that resurrection is possible
for houses, souls and hearts.

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The picture was taken through my windsheild this morning, as I passed Manassas Battlefield outside Washington, DC. Technically it's a terrible shot, too dark (It was 6 something AM.) and all blurred by rain and glass, but I liked the ghostly quality of it, and so here it is. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom