This Old House
Creaking doors
And achy fingers
From not enough use
or maybe
To much?
A leaky faucet
Old and worn out
Twisted and turned
to many times
Bloodshot eyes
That have seen to much
Now a sad pale blue
And never in focus
Shakey hands
That want so much
To turn the knob
And leave through
The creaking door.
Copyright © Brittney Rhoda-Goode | Year Posted 2008
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