Archive
05/24/10 - (2)
Nobody's Home
When nobody's there, a house is not a home, Not even a house, really, So much as a sadness where gathered memories huddle To discuss, amidst the mustiness of abandoned spaces, The ins and outs of past happinesses, stashed in drafty attics.
When nobody in the house is home And only nobody knows his/her/their forwarding address(es), Chances are great that randomness has buried its ghosts And that Darby and Joan, the folks who lived on the hill, Have flown the cosmos, left their home to the wind,
Even as their children (assuming they conceived a few) Slipped past anonymity's ramparts, into oblivion's ghetto, More secure there, for being able to go unnoticed, Humiliated so, by their parents' broken vows, decimated trust, Estrangement, divorce, in the court of moral shortcomings.
Now, though I've almost grown too old to care, When I do remember the gleaming home I so long ago shared With the blonde-haired princess of my dreams, Which we emptied of every single sacred, cherished belonging, For reasons now way too vague for my psyche to recall,
All I can bring into thinking's bygone interiors Is that sentimental notion about a house not being a home, Not even a house, when not even a lone mouse Scurries whisperously, skitters on stealthy feet, Knowing that derelict abodes are prone to travesties, tragedies, traps.
05/24/10 - (2)
|
|||
|
|||
