The roof reached high above the entrance
With layers of man laid shingles,
While a woman in pearls
Read me the account of an archetypal paradise
That had come to be tortured with chaos.
Listening to the incomparable story,
I felt at home beneath the high pointed roof,
With paradise from the tale painted upon the wall.
The building within which I sat
was much older than the people who made it's decisions.
And while they spent their time and money
on fresh paint and clear windows,
It's age still showed through its rundown exterior and unkept foundation.
I'd even, from time to time,
seen something slither beneath it's structure.
I grew older in that building,
Noticing the snake in the painting on the wall.
The building's enchantment faded
and it's temperature grew colder
Until I no longer felt at home beneath it's renovated ceilings.
And while the walls were being layered in paint,
The snakes were breeding beneath the floorboards.