Cap in a sealed space

The building was there,
For a few
Years, and the doors stayed put,
Obedient slices of wood,
Watching time play, and keeping
To themselves, as any door should.

The front room,
It peered at itself,
At its plaster arms, and when
The ceiling caved in,
The walls stopped talking to themselves,
And allowed the kitchen to enter
The conversation.

When the vines, they sneaked in,
From an exposure in the left corner
Of the collapsed slate,
Grew into the walls, touching them along,
They didn’t complain.

Neither did the cap,
Of a drunken bottle, which lay beneath the
Fallen ceiling, crushed and
Still pulsing.
-CS

Thoughts. Coments. Feedback. Whatever.