THE BLACK HOUSE

by Auburn Wilson IV

Flames lick the white pillars
Climbing, embracing, enticing
The structure, the symbol, begins to sink
Amid the creaking of wood
The purr of the great orange tendrils
And the ever nearing whining of would-be saviors of wood and history
One could swear they heard cheering, laughter, jubilation
Celebration as if hundreds of people had been trapped
And simultaneously released
No longer bound to the creation they wanted no part in
Their spirits free to reunite with their friends
With their loved ones
With their children sold down the river
They dance, their shadows form the base of the blaze
They encircle that beacon of self-righteousness
That they were made to build, to shape, to paint till their backs broke
Till they bled and died
They enclose it and cheer as it falls
Tearing down the monument of hypocritical patriotism
And as the building that birthed the system that kept their children shackled fell
The ghosts roared victoriously and climbed the fire to the stars,
To watch over the coming revolution

Pandemic Series 47
mixed media
Barry Ebner