A House on a Hill

There sits a sad house on top of a hill.
It sits miserable and separate.
Everything inside the house is still,
But the walls are lonely and desperate.
They remember the glow of light blue paint,
The pleasant weight of cherished picture frames.
But the memory of life has grown faint,
Haunted by faces with forgotten names.
When the dust settles, and the air is clear,
When the stars are out, and the moon is round,
The house laments all that it had held dear,
And its sorrow makes a pitiful sound.
A hill, a house, and walls once painted blue,
Abandoned, and the house, the walls, they knew.

Marie Eljera

Marie Eljera was born in the Philippines, grew up in California, and is currently going to school in Florida. She has been to aviation camp, went on trip following the Civil Rights’ Movement when she was in high school, and aspires to one-day become a professor of Literature at an Ivy League institution. She is a self-proclaimed nerd and tom-boy, who gets a little too competitive when playing first-person shooter video games. She writes because she feels there is nothing more beautiful than the art of language, and she hopes to communicate this love to the rest of the world.

Winslow Homer

CH204260 Houses on a Hill, 1879 (oil on canvas) by Homer, Winslow (1836-1910); Private Collection; Photo © Christie's Images; American, out of copyright