A man, or is it man

a creature of the night it remains

gliding softly in footfalls of the past

through the grey shaded garden

towards the concrete staircase

then up toward the door and window

beating its cane against the glass

over the doorway the numbers are carved

nineteen fourteen

the time of its creation

the time of its construction

nine hits added to ten

then fourteen

always fourteen

cursed again

numbers equal memories

but gain no admittance

to this house of stone

of brick and mortar

beaten from history

into a future blurred

bound into each other

not as a lover

but as memories hated

all that remains to be done, is

as shadow robes move a ticking hand

slowly, steadily, and without recourse

so sets the candle

like clock wraiths

writhing

growing the flame

equation

in hollow pupils

as what was

exists

becoming

time driven

car crashing

war hawking

conflagration