I sink into my waiting depression
as a marble into molten syrup.
My hair and face drip invisibly on the clothes of passers by.  For
how long can the strings of
sadness wind around you?

You listen to my sadnesses
but no longer hear me for
I have frayed your love like
rope in too many attempts
to tie and, having failed, lay
down to the inevitable dirge
of my unrelenting tears.

Daylight brings the last notes
of silence.  The clamor of
tasks hold me up.  The
progression to the end of
diurnal relief and I am balanced
on the truth of nightime's
faithless tones of remembering.

Caroline Shank

there is a familiarity I feel towards that old house.
With broken windows, cracked walls, dusty hallways and
loose boards.I sense it sighing when the wind blows, almost like
it will crumble.

Seeing the old house makes me feel this tag in my heart. so strong that my heart sunk and a deep ache rushes all over. a tear would drop at first and a next. And I always end up crying.

there is familiarity I feel towards that old house by road. and I  must take the short cut today.