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The Old Home

 

 

The boards creak and moan from time and poor carpentry

The nails , gripped by aged wood , have become crust collected and shrunken to form

The bare walls once displayed the smiling faces of past eons

But now they  are only the faded remnants of square foundations of lives that once hung on the waII

The stairs complain like an old man from unsubstantiated fears

The second floor seems solid , only responding to the remarks of my shoes

The old bedroom , once the center of attraction , overlooks the buckled sidewalks and weed infested yards of a stree that now has no cars or people passing by

I stand in silence for the moment and the moment stands silent for me

And in that moment I lay in time\'s eternal graveyard in hopes of reviving dead dreams