Architectural of trust

Poetry Foundation were laid on the quiet years

The foundations were laid in the quiet of years,
In the mortgage of patience and the lending of ears.
A structure of safety, meticulously planned,
Built on the promise of a steady, shared hand.
But the eye often wanders to the glass and the chrome,
To the spark of the stranger, the flight from the home.
​Betrayal is not a sudden, sharp sound,
But the slow, silent rot where the mortar is found.
It is trading the hearth for a flickering light,
A gamble on shadows in the heat of the night.
The architect learns, when the walls start to lean,
That a house isn't held by the sights that are seen.
​For the price of the "new" is the loss of the deep,
The harvest of secrets that no one can keep.
Yet even in ruins, the spirit can rise