Little house
big back yard
sweet smell of a cedar fire
brick patio
tinny carport
wooden stairs lead to the front door
seasonal doormats welcome visitors
the houses walls stand 54 years
simple treats of home brush away the worlds tears
a yellow kitchen and hardwood floors
this house is my core
where i belong
where i create
where i sit and waste away my days
where i write poems, short storys of fiction, romance and desperation.
every small kiss he kisses for me
in my bedroom
on the counter
the bathroom, the shower
his ghost like my own shadow
sometimes his whispers still i hear
sometimes his kisses still i caress
sometimes his shoes i still pick up
sometimes i wish he still i can touch
at night i still listen to the pebbles thrown at my window
the lost giggles and didos
the squeak of a tree swing swaying back and forth
the sounds of my home, my memory's, my lost soul in a current
i wait for home to come back to me
yet a house can not move as my feet
but i am scared and lazy
so i push the memories and my past back into my fantasy's
yes, this is all a lie, a fantasy, a dream never come true
my home never welcoming
my parents always yelling inside
i never was kissed in my bedroom or the kitchen
that is a fantasy i wish i witnessed
I long for a normal life of peace and harmony
perhaps my life is normal
the others are simply lucky