A Broken House

By Cliff Lake

 

 A Broken House

 

A broken house

Shows what rots inside.

 

Because he loves the hate.

 

Because they love to hate.

 

Because of their love of hate.

 

What wreckage are we to endure?

More walls have come down,

More destruction in this land.

And too near –

An empty House,

Closed for disrepair.

One wonders at the timing…

 

What wreckage we are to endure!

Metaphor springs to life,

Trades the red hat for the hard hat,

Keeps the hard heart.

Make complaint to your local congressman,

He needs something to do.

And what of the broken thing behind the rubble?

He revels in the complaint!

Why?

Because he loves the hate.

 

What wreckage are we to endure?

Institutions torn asunder,

Or starved of their resources.

Their needy have no recourse

But to clamor outside closed door.

Too late –

The delegates are sent home,

And no one gets anything.

But at least they are satisfied in knowing,

That no one else gets any either,

Especially those seen from the side-eye.

Why?

Because they love to hate.

 

What wreckage are we yet to endure?

What more to be plundered?

What more to be siphoned?

What more to be defaced?

Beauty is not valued for itself,

By those who value only their pockets,

Their names spoken,

Even through clenched teeth.

The broken are comfortable with breakage,

The hateful luxuriate in grievance.

Why?

Because of their love of hate.

 

Our broken house.

No longer just the metaphor.

No façade to hide the disgrace now,

The torn walls show clearly

Just what rots inside.

What wreckage must we endure?

 

Cliff Lake 10/22/2025

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2025

Location: Washington, DC, USA

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