I pushed at the open door, no sound
just darkness inside. Dust filtered my
nostrils, a mustiness of lost years
inhabited my senses. A loose floorboard
creaked in the stairwell, the aroma
of her Chanel provoked memories of my
living hell. A tear of self-pity congealed
in the dirt at my feet.I switched on the light,
"Hello son I knew you'd be back;He's gone..."
NOTE this is a repost of my original prose, to illustrate there is only two real differences between prose and poetry.Visual presentation and the fact that poetry is written to read aloud.