The House Must Burn

Once upon a time,

men with

limited eyesight

settled on a new land.

The proud men

saw nothing

on this new land

with those eyes.

They could not see

native, natural structures

dotting the landscape,

sculpted dwellings

and hearths,

offering peace and security.

Instead, the men

met and they schemed

and they designed

a house of their own.

The conviction took hold.

To make way,

the men scorched

what was in the name

of what should be.

The assured men

wielded weapons

of steel and of fire

and of illusioned faith.

Warriors raged and erupted,

witnesses to the fragments

and to the ashes

of scared spaces

and of scared souls.

Those who breathed

and loved and mourned

on the land for centuries.

But the infernos prevailed.

The land was primed.

To fabricate, the men

elicited old techniques

with tools of the time.

The prudent men

gave it a shiny veneer

but their ignorance

fueled perverse aspirations.

While the exterior suggested

bravery and freedom,

with its shiny, white paint

and robust pillars,

the interior revealed

grimmer penchants for design.

Innerworkings of winding stairs

and secret passages

with dead bolts and dead ends.

Only a trusted few were

given the map and keys.

The plans were complete.

The men could not erect

this house

with their own hands.

The craven men

could not swing a hammer

nor thread a saw,

tooth by tooth,

through wood sustained

by a million raindrops

rejuvenating the earth.

They stole bodies

from unfamiliar places,

with unfamiliar names,

bodies with strength

and with innocence,

extracted and exploited.

The labor was secured.

The pilfered bodies

built a sturdy

and a solid house,

a manifestation of a destiny

arrogance assumed.

The smug men,

though, neglected the

foundational flaws,

cloaking them with moldings

and pretty paintings

and fine furniture.

In the end,

this luster mattered

most of all,

its attraction

too rich to overlook,

and people flocked.

The house was ready.

The men devised

a big house,

with space for many

to remain within the walls.

The rational men

knew to grow and to thrive

in comfort and ease,

the pretense must propagate.

A welcome sign was hung,

an allure,

incrementally illuminated,

as those within no longer

had the veneer

to distract and to obscure.

But the map and the keys

remained with a few,

lineages still in control.

The fortifications took hold.

Now, too many years of

concealing those sinful,

foundational flaws

are showing.

The distressed men

see the collapse and seek

a quick fix, a way to

suppress the inevitable.

But those faults are too deep,

the allure no longer entices.

Those met with hostility

and with revulsion

in a place that preaches

brotherly love

day after day, year after year,

could no longer

tolerate the charade.

The house was shaken.

The walls quaked and

the floors fractured.

The nervous men

knew the steel nails

and the reinforced beams

could only hold for a time.

They hammered and they sawed

with lame hands

powered with denial,

a denial of history repeating,

this time with

a manifestation of a destiny

they did not conceive.

But denial cannot stop

the tidal wave sustained

pain and sustained pretense

inescapably creates.

The atmosphere trembled.

A space of hate cannot

cultivate a place of love

and of happiness.

The defeated men

grasped that too many

know you can scorch

what is for what should be.

If this house is truly

meant to welcome all,

it is beyond repair,

and so, it must burn.

All, internally

and eternally,

knows this truth,

yet some continued to deny,

first worried for their fate

among the flames.

But there was no other

way to cleanse.

The house was set aflame.

Among these ashes,

the formerly unwelcome

met and they schemed

and they designed.

The dazed men

prayed and they begged

for mercy and for peace.

They faithfully worried over

a justified fate not easily abided.

But the subjugated

are not easily subverted,

knowing a place from abundance

and hope, of shared wealth

and shared knowledge,

should welcome all not in name

but in the everyday mundane.

A utopic way to shelter and

to feed and to happily pursue

a life of collective accord.

The conviction took hold.

And they restored the world.