EMPTY HOUSE


 

This is an empty house-----
The embers in the fireplace are statues of ash,
Cold and dead.
No feet do the staircases tread.
The tables once laid,
The beds once made
Now kissed with dust,
Telling tales of woe and lust.

Silence frozen in every nook,
Desolation everywhere I look.
The clocks do no longer tick,
The piano plays a silent music
Of moth-eaten moments lost in time.
The wormwood devours all,
The rust covers all----
Like wallpapers the bats
Like carpet the rats,
Like tapestry the cobwebs,
Weaving tales of a brighter clime.


As I wade through layers of dust
Searching with pale, sunken eyes
For all those familiar faces
That did my life adorn,
I trip over the skeleton of other days,
Of hapless souls,
That do greet me with a  scorn
And whisper in my ears,
"Love has gone its way", they say,
"and all but woe departed".


I wait for the grand finale,
Drinking till the last dregs of the ale,
For all songs must end
And all curtains must fall
And all gates must close;
This is an empty house.

~Chrysalis~

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