House of the Burning Phoenix and Aphrodite

This house stands falling, Built a while ago, well preserved, Yet consequentially coming down, Hammers being hurled unintentionally At the core of the interior walls By the very ones who first constructed Its once sturdy structure. The remains smolder In its own loneliness and uncertainty. And from the crumbled ashes Of that once tenacious structure The new foundation rises, Uncertainty towards how the reborn structure will appear. Homely and rickety? Beautiful and strong? Tears from the home's Memories of its past existence Wash from its clouded windows The ashes still remaining from it's old state. Previous architects whisper words to it, attempting to sculpt the structure's supports to be as they once were. They begin to screech logic and certainties In their own desperate attempts. But all I want is what is thought To be uncertain. All I want is what is fleeting And causes my attic to withhold The boxed away logic Where it can accumulate the dust Of past comforts and certainties. All I want is what presents A flame within the heart of this home. All I want is what causes The forgotten record player, Once crippled from the abuse of previous tenants, To submerge the interior of the structure with its melodies of affectionate heartbeats. Close the shutters on the light That they kindly stream through the windows. Let only the sunlight from the eyes of that one adorn the interior Of this newly risen structure. Let that one come and recreate what they unintentionally destroyed. Let these new supports be strong In the way it builds itself. Let it grow upwards with the right intentions guiding its core. May all other aspects fade, Leaving only the warmth of the hearth to motivate And the soft beat of the record player's music to remind Which way the remaining construction, Soon to be built, Should lean.