The broken house slipped down slopes in ruins falling till it settled. Sitting on a solitary moment in time, it mourns frustrated desire, in fury throwing itself at the world. Its scattered bricks, far-reaching not, whisper resolutions to the wind:
Battered little dwelling, flee from the moment, flow into time, cry out to the adversary with conviction, “You will not be for destruction, but rather, for the foundation of a soul. Though the sad winds of time have undone me, I stand still, awaiting renewal”.
farmhouse ripped apart
wind dies down against all odds