Faded paintings hang crooked from peeling walls.
Fragments of human worth, stolen from souls,
Heat me with their ill-gotten vicarious warmth
As I pace the corridors of the huge house,
Clutching them to my chest, litanies of life.
What secrets lay around the next corner?
None that I have found thus far, each corridor
Rounded bringing the shortest answers,
More questions than one deems possible…