This is the Dark Side of Shallow Conversations

The house sat silent
For the first time in its long life
I'm sure it creaked when it was made

There were statues made of cobwebs
Painting every corner a shade of ages past
A legacy of leftover and half-forgotten promises

The utter emptiness of it
Even when filled to the brim
Was a wailing of its own

But now it no longer stood
Screaming its shutters off
But sat silent and serene

Perfect in quiet
Reflected in the sky of memories
And burning, slowly, to the ground

I watched from beneath the canopy
Of the valley trees
Looking up at the nostalgic flames