I am a house, haunted by ghosts of a not so distant past.
A house surrounded by an infinite land of trees.
Each one grown of a seed of a different memory.
Seeds borne from their fruits, the ripened and rotten.
Risen from the ground; tall, taller and tallest.
Some became the homes of birds called hope, while some died from fungus.
As a haunted house, I remained, with my haunted forest around me.
You would come to harvest my sacred lumber for your craft that you thought you so loved.
You didn’t realise ’til it was too late, that you loved me most of all.
You razed all that remained to blackened soil and soot with your technology.
The black smoke left stains on my outer walls and the fumes lingered in my halls.
And yet sunshine came, and so did the rain and my trees: they grew again.
I am stuck in a world behind closed doors and broken windows where you and I will always be together.
But all I am is an empty house.