The house stands mute, broken by years...
Windows stare through jagged glass.
Empty as the eyes of death.
Silent void...echoing joy..patient tears,
reach out in memory each time I pass
the gaping door which has no breath.
A rusted lamp-post leans toward Earth...
listening for approaching sound,
to light the darkness once more.
Quiet hush...resounding mirth,
touch my step upon the ground,
and beckon me in, to the shattered house.
Crushed boards once held dancing feet...
laughter clings to crumbled stones,
and tears strain the silent rooms.
Scattered remnants of life replete,
lie still as whitened desert bones,
and words spoken...here entombed.
I gaze upon torn and tattered walls...
Time pauses, and whispers soft to me
of life blossomed rich in moments gone.
Of a woman whose memory recalls
the beauty of love...and eternity...
mirrored in a rose upon the lawn.
House so sad, your youth abounds,
neath fallen grace, and buried sounds.
I hear your song in distant night,
and stand before your silent sight.
Copyright © Patricia Langston-Moran | Year Posted 2008
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