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House poem

Do not lie to yourself:
In the heart of the heart of the house
No memories abide
No flickering shadows reside
No secrets there to hide.
A house is a box full of toys,
Long forgotten, half-broken,
Once full of noise
Now in a precarious poise.
Look, the doll is hanging out
Hair entangled, mouth in a pout
Beady eyes forever half-shut
One push and it would fall, but
There is no one around to put it back
So leave it on its rack
A martyr to this place of joy and loss.
Time keeps tabs on the dross.

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