A rotting white house rests upon it's crumbling foundation, shaded by the gloom darkened shadows of a barren oak, blown by the somber winds of oppression. The only discernible sounds of the house are those of the forgotten.

The ceaseless whimpers of a deranged dog, as it incessantly circles the confines of it's narrow cell while inhaling the rancid odors petruding  from it's decayed gums, ridden with disease.

The eternal hunger pangs of a neglected boy threaten to destroy the boundaries of his sanity. He listens to the incessant pleads of a ravenous stomach that he understands will never be answered.

The relentless cackles of a helpless mother further corrupt the desolate atmosphere. Cowardly hiding within the confines of her room, surrounded by empty bottles carelessly thrown aside, she sits, incoherently mumbling as she drinks away the financial stability of her household, the gratification deepening with every sip.

The only discernible sounds of the house are those of the forgotten.

The howls of a desperate dog, 
The tears of an accepting child, 
The surrender of a mournful woman,
Are the only discernible sounds of the house, ignored by all, overlooked by the forgetful people living a forgetting life.