*An empty house
quiet with the whispered shadows of the past
of memories twisting, jumping, laughing, and screaming in the dark.
Alone.
These loud vacancies in time,
that split and shift as though time had never frozen.
Where ghosts of feelings and happenings forget
that they have past.
Disappeared.
Underneath a thick layer of grime and dust,
unmarked for years to come, and years to pass.
Silence.
The overwhelming loneliness of a time,
a space,
a treasure trove of memories,
lost through abandonment and growing up.
Disturbed.
Briefly, quietly, by soft footsteps hiding in the dark;
taking refuge in the peace that comes with being surrounded
by those just like one’s self.
Where muffled tears may go unnoticed,
and quaking shoulders embraced by a sad feeling of nostalgia.
Sleep.
Falling gently sideways while curled up tightly,
hiding from the world a perceived weakness;
slowly,
gradually,
unwinding in a tear-stained weariness brought
upon by the harshness of our species.
Reluctance.
Stirring awake only to realize the inevitability
of going back into that cruel reality,
and wandering through the dust with a slow
shuffle,
avoiding it to the end.
Reality.
Is merely pretending to be alright,
to be perfect,
sane,
unaffected by one’s past or circumstance.
Lying to yourself until the very last moment,
but by then it’s too late.
Death.
What comes to claim us all,
no matter what we wish or who we are.
The only way to be truly free.
End.
Merely the beginning of a new story.*
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
*An empty house
quiet with the whispered shadows of the past
of memories twisting, jumping, laughing, and screaming in the dark.
Alone.
These loud vacancies in time,
that split and shift as though time had never frozen.
Where ghosts of feelings and happenings forget
that they have past.
Disappeared.
Underneath a thick layer of grime and dust,
unmarked for years to come, and years to pass.
Silence.
The overwhelming loneliness of a time,
a space,
a treasure trove of memories,
lost through abandonment and growing up.
Disturbed.
Briefly, quietly, by soft footsteps hiding in the dark;
taking refuge in the peace that comes with being surrounded
by those just like one’s self.
Where muffled tears may go unnoticed,
and quaking shoulders embraced by a sad feeling of nostalgia.
Sleep.
Falling gently sideways while curled up tightly,
hiding from the world a perceived weakness;
slowly,
gradually,
unwinding in a tear-stained weariness brought
upon by the harshness of our species.
Reluctance.
Stirring awake only to realize the inevitability
of going back into that cruel reality,
and wandering through the dust with a slow
shuffle,
avoiding it to the end.
Reality.
Is merely pretending to be alright,
to be perfect,
sane,
unaffected by one’s past or circumstance.
Lying to yourself until the very last moment,
but by then it’s too late.
Death.
What comes to claim us all,
no matter what we wish or who we are.
The only way to be truly free.
End.
Merely the beginning of a new story.*
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