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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required THE FARM HOUSE. Part1. She sits. Her feet bare. The porch..paint blisters. So much can be done But to erase what once Was; NEVER. God. Hold back the tears! Remember; shadows are All that's left. A piano in the great room. Dust on strings. He never did learn To play that damn thing She mutters to herself. Her lips whistle; The promised tune. She is tired. Sleep is a fancy tale. Told around campfires. CAMPFIRES! She chuckles. Well, easy for some. She stands. Stretches, Fingers reaching for the sky. Soft thunder in the distance. Damn! The leaks... How many were there now? The wooden screen door opens. Her fingers rest easy On the brass handle Once shiny; now brown. The foyer; narrow and simple. A painting was centered. On the wall. There they stood. On easter. Like when she was little. Crack! That sound! It couldn't be.. Hold it together now. Outside! Her fingers. Still clutched that handle. The door swung shut; she is slowed by years; Time is cruel. Dark angry clouds swirl Her tree lay in pieces. Smoke and flame. The sky so angry; Yet no rain. Fire reached high.. Branch and leaf burned. The oak was special. It carried memories.. She turned away; Gazing back at the house She sobbed. Golden light through glass. How can it be? She had been alone. For too long. She walked away from ash. A melody so soft. Danced in her ears. Her feet moved through grass. The perfect length. To dance barefoot. She paused to listen. She remembered the melody. She remembered the dream. She danced a moment. Alone. To the house. Back on the porch; She listened to the piano. It's ghostly sound. She felt the pianist; chills. Then she slept. Kenneth Kerry.
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