Burned

I know it's Thursday instead of Saturday, and no, I have not lost my mind. Yet. Talk to me Saturday. I may tell a different tale. This is one of the rare occurrences where you receive two posts this week instead of one!

There's some background to this poem, so please bear with me for a minute whilst I explain.

The buildings surrounding the courthouse in my hometown are some of the oldest buildings in the city, with most of them built in the early 1900's. Various businesses, coffeehouses, and restaurants now occupy those buildings, transforming the old to modern. Two of these buildings were renovated into local "malls" where community vendors sold all sorts of eclectic items.

On Christmas Eve of 2017, one of these malls caught fire and burned to the ground. On my way to lunch to meet my fiance (I decided to walk the mile from campus to the designated restaurant), I passed by the remains of the mall. The smell of smoke and burning wood still lingered on the air, even three months later, and when I passed the gaping hole within the row of buildings, I stopped short. The sight of the gutted building took my breath away. I remember searching for who-knows-what in that mall as a child, teen--up until it burned, honestly. Although I have driven by the building since it burned, I hadn't been that close to it before. So I stopped and took a photo before passing on.

Later, in the ten minutes before Spanish class, the memory of the gutted building haunted me, so I whipped out my computer and wrote about the experience. 

This is the photo I took when I stopped to examine the rubble.

As I walked

Down the street

Today, I passed a burned-out building.

A chain-link

Fence blocked me,

From it, but I stopped to breathe it in.

It still smelled

Of smoke and ash,

The scent heavy, lingering above the ruin.

The brick walls

Were charred black,

Soot-stains painted everything.

They gutted it

Sometime past, and

A pile of scorched rubble sat in the hollow.

I saw where

The flames licked

And gnawed at the ancient frame.

It chewed holes

Through the wood

Of the last wall; I saw the street beyond.

Only three walls

Remained, and even they

Might soon come crashing down.

The blue sky,

Speckled with clouds,

Was the building’s roof and ceiling.

Then I stepped

Back and changed

My perspective of the remains.

The old building

Is gone, yes,

Burned, gutted, a skeletal scar.

But the soot

And ash on

The brick created a mural.

It told a

Story of pain,

Loneliness, hollowness, and despair.

Where once proud,

Where live thrived,

An empty shell screams in silence.

Life will end

The buildings crumble

And fall and burn in greedy flames.

Our bodies wane,

They grow frail,

And over time decay and die.

But like that

Building, our souls

Depart, leaving hollow shells behind.

We are not

There; we’ll be

Rebuilt, restored better than before.

Where some see

Death and ruin,

Others see a painting singing hope.

Where some see

A burned building,

I see beauty. I see a reflection

Of life.

            Of death.

                        Of rebirth.

I'll post another poem for you Saturday per the normal schedule, but in the meantime, I hope you liked this one! As always, feel free to comment your thoughts and suggestions for this blog as I am fairly new to the blogging world and greatly welcome any assistance you feel compelled to provide!

Have a lovely Friday,
Abigail