The inevitable eventuality of cities, and of our own dreams.
This is my house,
Built upon soil
Forested by the trees and
Streams of tender breeze.
Living warmed me
As I danced around the fireplace.
This is my house,
Forested among throngs
Of rising flats;
Flattened by the flats
Brought about by the
developer’s laden tender.
Living scorched me
As I tiptoed around creaking planks.
This is my house,
Forested by dreams
Unexpressed;
Flattened by promises
Undelivered;
Forgotten by a change
I was too slow to chase.
Living burned me
As my ashes float aimlessly into oblivion.