# 40 "Burning Down the House."

Burning Down the House.

Burning down the house literally.
And a metaphor of the inner temple.

Ever noticed in days gone past.
Things were built meaning to last.
I am very handy.
And fix what I can.
Objects of labor.
Created by a man.
A substance of nature.
It starts out to be.
Oil or granite.
A flower or a tree.
Transport and process.
All at a fee.
And not to mention.
All the energy.
To throw it away.
As if it were free.
That way of life.
Is not for me.
I rescued my house.
from sinking below.
Into the ground.
Ever so slow.
Imagine the toil.
of thirty long years.
Working in mud.
Up to my ears.
Art is a skill.
And I use it well.
Nothing to do with.
Or anything to sell.
Something inside.
That hears the call.
It is not confined.
To a mural wall.
But the wall itself.
And the studs they hide.
The plumbing I soldered.
And the wires inside.
Techniques are mastered.
And crafted with pride.
The hard part is finished.
And so much is done.
Then permits not granted.
Not this or that one.
I asked for some help.
Been to hell and back.
Promises misleading.
Pushed off the track.
The walls are just where.
I need them to be.
For the solar energy.
And so efficiently.
Now future-istically.
Ahead of its time.
Tearing down the house.
Would be such a crime.
Grappled to a dumpster.
In the blink of an eye.
With all that I stand for.
My inside will die.
In case your not knowing.
It happened before.
My insides torn out.
When I went to war.
In this land of plenty.
We throw things away.
I have fixed this house.
With intent to stay.
To live until I die.
Not pray for the day.
What can I say?
To get you to see.
The price that I pay.
Or it’s doing to me.

Jim Raab