I’d love to live in an historic house
From a time when beauty in architecture
Seems to have mattered more
Than it does today.
But if it were a plantation house
I’m not sure I could live there
For being haunted by the utter wickedness
Of what had likely happened
Under its roof and on its grounds—
And by the wanton greed of those
Who would trade in what is not rightfully theirs.
I should think it better used as a museum—
That the wickedness and the beauty alike
Could be known to the masses—
With me as its docent
Telling the whole story
That they, too, could marvel at
What a surprising mixture
Of beauty and ugliness
Can live within
The human heart.
