Beulah

Twisted door frames, aching
and torn, wood flaking crumbles,
damp seeps and tumbles
through the walls and mind.
Brown carpet with rotting
walls. Abject waste of noble grace.
Never talk of silent anger
behind the folded face.

Smell of confusion hangs in the air
subtle stench of stillness and care.
Damp paper peels in the hall
white chalk frowning wall.
Rooms of receipts rotting
a mind, lost. Love squatted here
alongside two lives' cost.
A soft still place of subtle fear.

A love I could never understand.
Never touching, crooked hands
saving water saving grace
cold and aching. Black fireplace.

Yellow seat caved and depressed
to incontinence and sweat.
Aging and dying together
in separate rooms they slept.