a house

I made a house of strong wood
not so long ago,
with windows on all sides
and only one door.
I shut myself in,
escaping the rest,
but still I gazed at
this beautiful world.

I watched the seasons change,
the furniture I rearranged,
yet still I was alone.
Then I built a chair
made of that same wood;
perfectly crafted,
smoothely finished like glass,
nothing else like it in
this beautiful world.

Still no one came
to see my
wonderful home,
and once again
I found myself alone.

Since then years have gone past.
That house is no longer my home.
The wood that once stood so strong
crumbled to the ground,
and I'm left lying
in a sea of sound.