The Art of Our Dwellings

Houses fall in on themselves
and pavement cracks
and everything we built is pushed aside
as nature reclaims her throne.
There’s a tower built high
that blocks the sun
and animals roam free
through stores and homes.
And abandoned subway tunnels
hide packs of dark creatures.
I’m alone here.
I’m alone here.
So our dwellings
are all that’s left
to represent us.
Every small house
is a statement of
things long gone.
How could this happen
after everything I’ve done?
Is this my fault?