Come With Me

By: Susan Gottlieb

Come with me to my house.

It's dark and blue inside.

The windows are closed throughout

With hate and murderous rage.

Come with me to my door.

It's red from blood that was 

Drained from our souls.

The rugs lie curled from neglect

And dry rot.

The wooden floors are warped.

Come with me to my garden.

The trees have turned brown,

The flowers have died, no longer 

Nourished by Mother Earth.

The dirt dried and cracked

Desperately calling. . . calling. . . for water

See the souls hanging from the trees?

Ceiling white, drained of their color.

The stay there,

Day and Night

               Year. . .                             

                            After. . .

                                          Year. . .

                                                       After. . . 

                                                                     Year. . .