What if every place you’d ever lived could tell a story;
A recounting of your life by many walls?
What if every word you’d said and deed you’d done there
Were embedded in the rooms and in the halls?
What if one day when you wanted to remember
All the living that you’d done in houses past,
You put glass to wall and stories fairly poured forth?
Would you recognise the days and years all passed?
If a record of your days in each was written
And portrayed poetically in film or book
Would you read, survey, enjoy all that you saw there?
Be happy so to have another look?
Or would walls be haunted by memories that maimed there
And bleed distempered paint into the rooms?
Would the years and months and days be reflective of your dreams
Or a nightmare lived, encased in fetid tombs?
What if those you’d known and loved were all still present
In the fabric of the buildings that you’ve known?
Would their eyes be wide like yours at the secrets all revealed
At the manner of your ways not always shown?
What if where you lived right now had all new plaster
And a sheath to shelter brick from broken tithes?
Would you take the chance to start afresh and try there
To edit and improve upon your life?
scottishmomus 