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Decayed
"I thought I'd feel comforted by walking through my childhood home. The only emotion I felt was melancholy that it had been abandoned and left alone to die." ~ by poet
I sat in sorrow as tears salted the coffee in my cup
while I recalled the crumbling house of my youth.
I drove by yesterday and found it in need of repair.
The front porch planks had been badly cut up,
old wavy windows were all shattered. Forsooth,
the decayed look of it left me filled with despair.
Balustrades broken; paper peeled from the walls.
Ceilings sagged from many years of leaks in the roof.
The antique canopy bed where I once laid my head
was in ruins, along with Persian carpets in the halls.
I shook my head and clicked my tongue in reproof
upon seeing the fireplace mantle painted brick red.
The lovely flower garden had not faired any better...
Our well-tended heirloom roses had been left to die.
Mama's clippers and trowels were corroded with rust.
Gone was the swing where I wrote my first love letter.
I could not bear to look and turned away with a sigh.
Cobwebs adorned corners, covered in layers of dust.
I couldn't say fond farewell when it was time to leave,
nor did I turn for one last look, what could I have said?
I felt the need to hold my memories and a glass of wine.
I remember it the way it was then, and I began to grieve
for a house that had once been my own; the homestead,
and started humming the wistful tune, 'Auld lang syne.'
Copyright ©
Lin Lane
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