 | Submitted by Nicola Ashcroft
E-mail: NNICKYNILA@AOL.COM
These wall's hold our secrets,
with bricks so old,
worn out and tired,
they know our guilt and suffocation,
slowly tearing me apart....The silent powdery cry escaping,
pouring out between the grooves and cracks,
without a lie,
just a sorrow filled tearful eye,
the wall's are crumbling down....
These old open windows,
reflect in my eye's,
images imbedded so deep inside our minds,
a reflection of our blackened past,
echoing through the dust...
The wooden floor's creak with pain,
drained of life,
dry and worn,
just a shadowy past remains,
with secrets deep in-between its grooves...
The staircase comes away from its wall's security,
floods of dusty tears escape into the air,
the old fire place still stands proud,
regal in its place,
alight with red and purple feverish flames,
an eruption of the bitter years...
A memoire,
a life tarnished,
the hall way lies bare,
cold and still,
the yard outside shows,
a shallow covering of winters bloom,
so much beauty,
yet still so chilling,
these wall's of paradise have spoke....
Setting free the wounded,
giving life to all who suffered under its bevelled roof,
acknowledging the bewildering fear,
giving way,
shining a light to happiness,
blowing away the shame,
taking away the haven that secrets did roam... |  |