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The Farmhouse
September 22, 2013
I breathe in and almost taste
The hidden languages around me
The unspoken words are
The most important
I am knowing,
The creative juices are flowing,
And yet
I reach out and touch it
Trace my finger on the banisters
The canisters of dried rice
The old clock face
The dusty piano's keys
Ans when I lift my finger I
Feel the thick, rich...
Mysteries and memories and wannabe's
The farmhouse is coated the thick, syrupy sweet
Remnants of
Lives loved and
Life yet lived
© Mercedes R., Queens, NY
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