To her it was just a house,
but to me it was a lifetime.
The walls were built with memories,
the ceilings stretched into the galaxies.
The floors had endured the weight of my sorrow,
the doors were pathways into new tomorrows.
But to her it was just a house.
The walls were made with brick.
The ceilings crafted with wood.
The floors were imported tile, stained carpet, scratched wood.
The door had been replaced twice.
To me it was a lifetime.
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Author:
Christina K (
Offline) - Published: October 28th, 2016 14:45
- Comment from author about the poem: I wrote this as I reflected upon the fact I had moved out of the house I had lived in for the first 16 years of my life. To my mom, it was just another place she had lived, but to me it was the only one. I also want to add that my rhyme scheme for the first half of the poem reflects my emotional attachment to the house, but the latter half does not rhyme as a reflection of my mom's realistic view of it.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
Offline)
Comments5
Great one, sorry about your loss tho..
Amazing poem! Very heartfelt.
I too get attached to things like houses. Maybe it's the memories as you say, and the future is always on the other side of the door. Nice portrait.
Amazing and awesome write
Very well done. You do make it sound like a home instead of a house. Sorry you had to move.
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