| "It Was My Home" |
| The wind howls around this empty house. It tears and pulls at the faded ivy on the walls, And whines through the shuttered panes. I hear water drip an endless melody, On the cold unyielding pavement outside. Everything is dark and still, void of life. So very oppressive, suffocating, and bleak. But now and again, if I listen closely, I can hear faint, distant cries echoing, And glimpse shadows in the fading light. Deceit and neglect have made of this place, A mockery of what it had once been...or so I thought. So, now it is nothing...nothing but a hazy recollection. It reeks of broken promises and shattered dreams, Which still tug at my senses...and tortures my mind. At the edge of hearing, there's a strange sound. Or is it just the bellowing wind again? No, it's a low whimpering cry, that drifts all around me. That's impossible though...I'm all alone. What can it be? Am I here with phantom noises, of not so long ago? Maybe memories live yet in this lifeless abode, Soaked and sealed into these hardwood floors. Even the cold and empty fireplace has stories to tell. Although now it only looks out towards gathered dust And debris of too many empty, silent months. I freeze! Standing very still, paralyzed, and listening. Then, in an instant, I understand the hard truth. I know those strange, tormented, unsettling sobs. I can see those lonely forlorn eyes, that are filled with tears. And I bow my head in pain, horror and self pity. That anguished, desolate cry, those familiar sounds... Were mine. Charlotte |
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