The Red Bricked House


You are the red brick house my memories are built upon,

the foundations of my wooden spine,

the pillars that bare my strength.

I only need to force my eyes shut to see that house,

bold, fierce, strong,

solid and intangible in it’s existence,

refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer,

against the winds that vowed to destroy you,

the ‘no’s’ that are now embellished into my wood work and window panes,

that I replicated,

to the best of my ability,

to recreate the house I admired,

painting the celling with dedicated accuracy,

so that you would see my imitation

as my most sincere form of flattery.

Whilst my house stands with its back to the destruction,

your house stands in the face of fear,

not for a second cowering,

worn down by disastrous storms,

pulled apart by the prying fingers of time.

The red bricked house still stands as beautiful as I remember,

If only I close my eyes first.


(I wrote this poem with my Nana in mind- comments/likes/etc always appreciated) 🙂





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