104

This is the house of my father

The termites eat every wall
The beams fall
And the roofs shatter
And the ceiling splits with the gutter

I come back today to remember
The past
And here I am to reconstruct better
The future i must

The present
Shall be this condiment this complement

Now, these hands shall be the hammer
To every nail in the mind of this dreamer

This house shall stand again
Proud against the wind & rain.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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