Analysis of A House, In Time.

This house has long since been forgotten -
Its floorboards groan and scream in
Remembrance of ghost’s footsteps treading still
Are the walls - whose only movement comes
From whispering winds sneaking secrets through the cracks.
Cracks - each a portal in time:
Here is a child falling, here is someone playing catch in the house,
Here is a first kiss, and here, well here is the present - a memoir.
Grass springs through the wooded ground,
Caressing the planks in nature's embrace.
A vision overtakes me, the house is gone -
Replaced by a great grass field full and wide.
The laughter of children wearing clothes unbeknownst to history echoes backward.
I sit down to better take in the feeling -
Dust kicking up in swirling moats that resembles
Solutions mix together in a beaker, becoming one.
This time, this life, this house: threads from a spool,
Whirling together to form a beautiful canvas.

I see a mother bathing her newborn babes.
I see a father putting food on the table.
I see a group of gamblers, a group of police,
A group of workers, a group of merchants,
Of scholars, of doctors, of farmers, of friends -
I see a blazing flame!
I see everything, but none of it at all.
The door creaks on its un-oiled hinges, squeaking in pain.
The sun no longer pierces the drapes,
The building becomes dark once again.
The clapboards drum against the building,
But the rhythm has long since died.
All I feel are the splinters of wood upon my fingers drawing blood,
No, that blood is dried.