When I look out my window, the purple square does glare,
at me to ensure that I remember, to remain fully aware,
that the situation’s changing, prepare to say goodbye,
for twenty two years of life, surely does fly by.
These bricks and mortar, have been my heaven and hell,
where my tears rolled down, but also my heart swelled,
in scenes so vivid, it’s as if they happened yesterday,
though when I look at the clock, time does tick away.
So, I curtain twitch once more, to see the confirmation,
like a passenger does, in the waiting room at a train station,
then my mind turns its attention, to the prospective buyer,
hoping that they respect it, and not start a careless fire.
That would reduce it to ash, thus; killing its identity,
comes the shout, from my overbearing sentimentality,
it will be improved, not shattered, the agent does utter,
dampening the heat within, to remove my mental clutter.
But a lump in my throat, will naturally continue to grow,
with a saline deluge from my eyes, when it’s time to go,
and then look forward to wherever’s next, on my merry map,
to endeavour with life’s tasks, whilst fondly looking back.
For now, that for sale sign, is a cardboard tombstone,
as it marks the end of a chapter, of thirteen being home,
however, that label over time, will surely have to change,
as both in house and human, some hope can be rearranged.