Ghost Town

November 15, 2011
This house is a ghost town.
There's nothing left except dust and loss,
What once was grand is left to rot,
Dead bugs and dirt and the stink of urine.
This house that was lively with light and music,
This house that sparkled and invited people in,
This house now stands deserted.
The residents, like the garden, are dead.
Like a balloon on the wind,
Like lights on a highway,
Like pennies in a poor man's wallet.
These people, like their trinkets, collect dust.
These empty people,
Are a ghost town.

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