Victim of Neglect

Braided creepers festoon its ghosted walls
Whilst translucent panes reveal rusted lattice,

Termite-riddled framework and moth-eaten drapes.
Its once ivory composition is spider-cracked hither and thither,

Its cracks, though finger-deep, are just not deep enough 

To admit a shaft from the sky’s luminaire.
Though with the capacity to contain, it contains 

Naught, save for brass and bronze bric-a-brac with a diluted shine 

Sitting in shambles on stale blue shelves.
This house in form has a formless twin –

A soul shaded from Virtue’s light,

Victim of neglect, empty and inoculated from brightness,

It denies itself dawn to remain in eternal night. 


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Guts of brass, heart of glass.

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