The Homeless

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.