In a Mason Jar

My soul lies
In a Mason Jar
On the table
Of a house cloaked
In whispers

I dream that
The rusty hatch
Might flip, that
At last I
Could flee

Perhaps the house,
Its shingles sinking
Heavy with moss
Into the rotting roof
Had a proud voice

But rain, snow and
Wind conspire, they
Tear and sway
And batter, until the
House is but a whisper

So in the thickening dark
Raindrops fall
And among these sounds
I sit
Suspended

In my Mason
Jar, I look through
Glass frosted
With warmth
With longing

My eyes, an eager
Pair of fireflies
Flutter their last
As all round me
The whispers roar

The wind tears paint
From the sunken walls
The bitter chill of autumn
Wrings screams from
The frail foggy windows

Cracked open like
A fallen bird's nest
Around me the wreckage
Of a wooden reality
Fleeting and Feeble

All is dust
When in the morning
The quiet dawn tells me
It was good to have been
In my Mason Jar