The house.

They screeched

They scratched

At the windows, closed, 

At the curtains, well juxtaposed.

The dim light that seeped,

The light music that bled

They clawed,and mauled and snapped

At that, which they had not had.

Turned and twisted

Their necks and heads, and minds.

Desire and envy were never in short supply

In the green monochrome of their tinted eyes.

Every lithe tread was a threat.

Every word whispered a writing on the wall.

They eyed the house, every look a stone

What holds up the structure? Does anyone know?

They waited for the rains.

They begged and begged for slaughterous storms.
They prayed hard for hard hail.

But to no visible avail.

In the cold winters, the house glowed with warmth.

Summers seemed brighter in its proximity.

In the rains, it smelled like wet earth.

Oh, what has given to this magnanimity birth?

At the slightest tremor, they ran,

Galloped, to watch the carnage;

But its unassailability brought to their eyes tears,

Poked at, by the shards of unfulfilled dreams and years. 

Their houses had been destroyed,

Ransacked, bludgeoned, ravaged and lost.

The only bricks that did remain,

Encrusted their hearts with pestiferous pain. 

The indestructible house opened wounds,

Reminded them of their own plight.

Filling their hermetic hearts with hatred, this sight, 

For the love that did somehow survive.