The fast falling rain slams hard against the old wooden windows
The wind whistles through the empty fire place
And lightning the only light that shines in the darkened room.
Promises uttered last as long as the whisperers icy breath hangs in the air
A faint layer of dust covers an old fashioned telephone that keeps ringing, but remains unanswered
And the smell of damp wood and musty perfume lingers and mixes with the ghosts and memories of the past.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 9:53 PM UTC
The fast falling rain slams hard against the old wooden windows
The wind whistles through the empty fire place
And lightning the only light that shines in the darkened room.
Promises uttered last as long as the whisperers icy breath hangs in the air
A faint layer of dust covers an old fashioned telephone that keeps ringing, but remains unanswered
And the smell of damp wood and musty perfume lingers and mixes with the ghosts and memories of the past.
Request permission to use this poem