Why does my home have to be a house of sorrow?

Why is it a place of broken dreams, broken hearts,
and little hope for tomorrow?

A cage of brokeness.

Why is nothing sacred, nothing cared for,
nothing genuine, nothing safe?
Why do tears have to be our entrance and our exit into everything of note?

An existence of mourning.

Shrouded in invisible black,
Its inhabitants dance unmoving
To the silent tune of
Unmistakeable pain.

Is this the life we should be living?

They find it hard to sidestep
Event upon event upon event
of death, loss, and misfortune.
It haunts them at every turn.

Is this all that life is made up of?

And so the broken house stays standing
For how else could we be struck down
If we weren't kept where we were?
In this life-long prison.

From birth to death.