When The House Burns Down Poem by Linda Marie Van Tassell

There were no flowers in her hand,
and that was not the wind trembling.
Tears have no cause to understand
when a child starts disassembling.
Fingers linger upon the skin
in stains of forget-me-not blue.
With skin so pale and body thin,
she gathered her strength and she flew.

She chased her dreams and watched them die.
No more a child, she stood alone.
Bright stars came falling from the sky
in a room made of earth and stone.
She travelled once to see the house,
a white ghost in a dusty shroud
whose finer days no hope can rouse.
The heart spills open like a cloud.

The past is tossed upon a wave,
uncovered with its twisted roots,
cast like a line from out the grave
with its rotten and bitter fruits.
Shadows portend a storm within.
Lightning strikes on the edge of town.
She is there when the flames begin,
and she smiles when the house burns down.