Serrated plates,
rows of overlapping scales
went out with the disappearance of the dinosaurs,
died on a Medieval joust;
discard the armour.
Little one,
precious child,
let Me in.
Image courtesy of politicalvindication.com
It’s time to tear you down.
You’ve executed well, and served Purpose faithfully.
Erected under inky skies, with window-curtained cheeks stained pink,
you covered rawness and hid inadequacy
within wooden walls.
Your shingles protected from prying eyes and prodding glances,
a roof of glass sharper than blade.
It’s time to tear you down…
You fought the Big Bad Wolf and the huffing and puffing
and chimney climbing and door knocking
screamed for strong structure.
But now,
you keep the Princess behind bars
and the Prince from the tower
and the Good Genie from granting your wishes.
And your blemishes multiply
in dawning daylight.
So –
I’m tearing you down,
plank by plank,
nail by nail,
gutter by shutter,
until all that’s left
is
me.