The House of The Rising Sun

Paper Cranes
Carry prayers
To the rising sun.

The house was renamed,
some time a few years back,
now the setting moon replaces
everything she once new.

Enter the doorway,
she tiptoes on the feathers
of the shattered clouds,
and heads for the attic.

Finding the noose, she wears as a neclace,
and the flaming candle that never burned out.

She tosses in her sleep,
seeing this attic,
hiding away from the rest of the world
in the house of the rising sun.

The rising sun doesn't rise anymore,
So to her, it's just a house.

The neclace she bares reminds her of
her humilty,
and the flames remind her of her spit fire.

The house, the house,
she can never burn it down.

She hung the noose in the attic, and set the candle
underneath.

Because even the humble will eventually burn to the ground.

And finally, she can walk away untouched.
And the sun rises once again,
but to her it is still
Nothing but a house.