Moving House
MOVING HOUSE
Everyone gone.
Scattered long-lost yellow photos, outdated tickets,
Carpet hollows where furniture stood,
Are the only traces.
End of the world we knew -
Walls scorched with sun-faded outlines of pictures,
Curtainless windows glare - intense heat
From the staring sun
In the empty sky,
Dust beams across moveless clouds of motes.
In remote corners dead spiders with their
Forgotten, mummified flies.
Cockroaches are king, moving over vacant floors,
Silent in the voiceless void.
Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2014
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