The Homeless
Listen to poem:
Old creaking in the floors is calling out to me,
A whisper of the past in shadows softly cast,
Four walls are all invisible; my mind still can see.
The kitchen’s warmth, where laughter used to be,
The bedroom holds the dreams that time has over-passed,
Old creaking in the floors is calling out to me.
In every corner, memories swirl like leaves in spree,
The den, a silent witness to the moments amassed,
Four walls are all invisible; my mind still can see.
Wrapped in a hoodie, lost in reverie,
I trace the fading echoes, their hold steadfast,
Old creaking in the floors is calling out to me.
Head on my backpack, thoughts like waves at sea,
I wonder if these echoes are meant to last?
Four walls are all invisible; my mind still can see.
Don’t say it’s all up to me; I seek a key,
To unlock the stories held in shadows cast—
Old creaking in the floors is calling out to me,
Four walls are all invisible; my mind still can see.
Copyright © Anonomus Scorpio | Year Posted 2024
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