The old house smells of a long lost past, inside- lined with chestnut oak floors, scratched and beaten as the years wore it down- love, compassion, friends and enemies stepped on their aged panels.
           Each crack and scratch channeling some form of memories- the energy of the soles tread upon them & never a complaint but a mere creak in blatant spots where they've taken mighty a tole. Safe haven, home- a common fishbowl for each of our young lost souls.
          Here, we seem to find each other and lose ourselves, a happy balance of heaven and hell rises and falls amongst those left of us. All along I knew it was them I truly trust.
           All the years, all of us, every tear
We still, walk in the house unannounce, safe from the hell of all outdoors and pad contently across these old wooden floors