but a house -

I sit … unusually still car parked in the driveway engine off home again, jiggity-jog but I don’t reach for a handle I soak a moment in silent twilight, breathing old leaves and a hint of apples tickling the chill air October enfolds me in ambiguity color, beauty, death … and that harsh white beast that approaches its teeth, sharp … ruthless yet … it never bothered me as now - I never feared it but it is a metaphor, unwelcomed for life … for love for hope, wasted on the foolish and strangled by time … once, I hurried in for what awaited was warm welcoming … and kinetic no more … ‘home’ no longer means what it did just an empty promise and so much now is but memory wishes, suns, moons the tender flesh they’ve painted the eyes they danced within moments they carried … I stare into the darkness about me looking for a dream but it stares back, coldly with judgement … perhaps … perhaps I’ll sit here forever for all that awaits is even blacker than this autumn evening - an answer to the question that I dare not ask and a house with only ghosts … to welcome me. * This is a form I created called “Bookend Free Verse” - I hope you enjoyed it! * Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, October 5, 2023