How imperfect you seem now.
How much work would it be to restore you?
All the beauty that surrounds you, why do you remain?
I’ll bet it used to be a gorgeous view.
Warm and safe, a home for the ones who built it together.
Abandoned, but still it stands.
Broken, but not erased.
This is a beautiful poem, and I can see the house in my mind’s eye. It is wistful, evocative of a stubborn clinging to the past. I think this poem ends with the phrase, “Broken, but not erased.”
I was just making that change. Thank you. ☺️
I love the first line!
Sent my mind in many different places – such a known experience…
And, I would love to pull together all the pieces written about that same photo. I wrote about it too. And I always find it so interesting to read a collection of writing from the same visual prompt. Wonder if there’s a way to do that.