Over time the rooms where I live are changed
As cement and wood and walls mature,
Settling into the foundation.
Regrets like paint haunt the walls,
Reflect within the mirrors and frame.
The mold and rot of past gathers,
Seeps into the studs,
Weighting and constraining strength
So that the roof recurves.
Becoming a facade, smiling white paint,
While inside waits the destruction of regrets
Held vigil,
Until the walls crumble.
Life lived is spackled with regret
Refining who I am,
But these cannot define
Design without destruction.
Time is to contemplate and clean away regrets,
Bury them in stone etched with God's promises.
Refresh the thoughts the hold the home in place
And turn my eye from beckoning remembrances
Of what was, or could have been.
These are dead memories.
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