No Title | First Draft

This doesn’t have a title and I know it’s pretty rough. I can’t quite seem to get it to sound right, so feel free to edit.

It’s kind of funny…I was talking with PB in the lounge earlier; we weren’t even really talking about writing (rewriting a little) and this just kind of came to me. Not sure why, maybe he’s just an inspiration ; )

Anyway, as I said, it’s a rough first draft so if you have any input I’ll see what I can do with it on the 2nd, 3rd,…or 4th rewrites.

Thanks,
-Steve

I built it for us when we were young.
It had blue siding and white trim
framed by a lush green lawn.
There were pink azaleas along the walk
and a red brick fire place with rough hewn mantle.
I would stoke a blaze to warm us
as we held each other on cold damp nights.
Then I tore it down.

I built a white foursquare
In its place. A wide porch
to sit in the evening and sip tea.
Shinny brass knocker hung on the door
to announce a guest that would see
a long mahogany staircase to our room upstairs
where we would lay in bed
and talk of our future.
Then I tore it down.

I built a Queen Anne
in its place, with gabbled roof, turret and
a trellis for the faithful roses
whose cherry red pedals shaded Palladian windows
to watch passerby admiring such
a home, and spoke of us;
but we never heard them in our separate rooms.
Then I tore it down.

I built a cottage,
but not in its place. Only four simple rooms
and not much space.
There is a woodpecker on the fence post
that woke me this morning
and there are trees and wildlife
and a garden so green.
My home is far from where we used to be.
to enjoy by myself; I finally saw
that when I tried to build beauty,
all I really built were walls.