Reminiscence

The soft-spoken breeze

of the night kissed

the roof and

the sky fell.

Unstable rafters cannot

at all make a home or

a refuge.

None could foretell, only

it has a sturdy surface;

yet, indeed, it has a delicate soul.

And none could predict

it could transcend a storm

when it could not even support

Itself.

In this space where once

stood a grand facade,

back in the golden days of yore,

Now there is but dust,

and debris

and the soft-spoken breeze of the night.