"Oh, puh-leeeeeze write it!!!!" It's a story that begins on the day I did. So, necessarily, it's a story of growing decrepitude, of the house in which I was born, and currently reside, and of me as well.
Mistakes that were made, and their consequences. But even though it sounds like it, it's a story about my house, and not so much about me.
Since it starts with my arrival, I should probably include this poem as an introductory set-piece. And then I should tell the story of how my house and I grew old and decrepit together.
When I Came Here
When I came here, Lord, I traveled,
In a glory and a glow,
Quite of Heaven in its trappings,
To the soil of Earth below,
Painful must have been the vision,
To the ones who chose to look,
For they covered up my glory,
With precautions that they took,
Lest a passing eye should notice,
Glory has no shroud of shame,
So they clothed me in their garments,
Not of beauty but of blame.
It's the nature of our species,
To transform our blessings such,
That a gloried gift of sunshine,
Darkens to a not-to-touch.
Yet we wrap up with the object,
Sullied now ourselves with dirt,
What this place we find around us,
But a prison filled with hurt?
I've been taught that life is struggle,
Life is for the brave and strong,
When I came here I brought glory,
What has happened to my song?
In this war that Man is waging,
In this battle that we fight,
I trudged forward as a soldier,
Now I see a dying light.
In this place that I have fallen,
In the pit of darkest night,
Orb of Heaven for my halo,
Grant me wings and guide my flight!
NicknamedBob . . . . . March 14, 2009
But don't expect the story to be completed soon. I'm still trying to put together that four-dimensional jigsaw puzzle I call "the busy corner".