A loveless house is filled with ghosts,
Of what might have been, and what will never be;
Some vital force is absent here, withdrawn into itself,
Retreating into empty corners, and lurid shadows.
This slanting sun, this pale evening light,
Cannot dispel the all-pervasive darkness.
Here, where life begins, and also where it ends.
Outside I hear children, distant laughter,
Voices that echo through the closing year.
Yet now there are no children here -
But just this litany, this faint murmuring
From long ago, passing through cracks in time -
These children, for fifty years forgotten here,
In this house, still waiting for their mother.
There are no ghosts in joyous houses,
No brooding reflections of bygone days,
Nor heavy shadows like these beside the bed,
Falling more darkly now than even memory.
Where love has been the spirit needn’t linger.
A loveless house is filled with ghosts,
Regrets resounding through eternity.
Brent Hightower
Copyright 2020 Brent Hightower
21stcenturyperceptions.blogspot.com
No comments:
Post a Comment