Like gravestones marking the death of a simpler rural life at the far reaches of most metropolitan cities, cold and lonely, abandon homesteads provide a window into our mark on the earth. Rusted nails, broken glass, forgotten child’s toys, they seem the perfect setting for an apocalyptic end of time novel. Who lived here? Why did they leave? We see the traces of the former owners, the torn wall paper, children’s heights marked year by year on the lime paint beneath the torn wall paper, but occupants there are none. However the houses they stay, like pets waiting for a master to return, a return that shall never happen, only the mice and raccoons and other creatures are willing to adopt these homesteads.
Rusted nails and broken glass,
Boards and bricks litter the grass,
Lead paint peeling from maintenance slowed,
The lonely house stares, gaping down the gravel road,
Its windows busted and doors dis-hinged,
Pieces of furniture in the yard black and singed,
A home once but now a grave,
Dirty dismantled shack no one can save,
As the sun sets and casts gold rays,
We turn and leave, but the house it stays.
Stays for now to guard the road,
Cracked and rocky, love not showed...
Here are some images of a new side project to my homeless story, about abandon homes and homesteads,
enjoy, more to come.