The House

by Meg Williams

Standing alone
It’s eyes to the world broken
Split and weathered shingles
The only barriers to the cold and sun and wind
Shimmering with heat or sparkling with frost
Emotions hiding
Releasing rusty tracks down every corner
Once someone’s hopes and dreams
Proud, strong, and well-loved
Now barren and lonely, waiting
Riveting stories but no one to listen
Old souls become spectral voyeurs
Empty yet suffocating
While ghostly echoes shatter the silence
Nature’s recycling has begun
Decay is cruel
Closing its persistent fist
Slowly steadily
Cut off from living
The wind plays tricks
On barely hanging shutters and broken doors
With every screech and crack
Soon to be liberated
Into intimacy with the Earth but not a neighbor
Sadness abounds
Leaves quiver and fall on untended grounds
Paths made by joyous feet now overgrown with weeds and debris
Hoping for a spade or plow to end vicious isolation
Vacant space so long without warmth or delightful smells
that embrace like a soft blanket
Emptiness creates its own odor and taste
Poignant longing to be conquered with noise and laughter
Not worth fixing…….. Another treasure lost

Meg Williams is a member of SourcePoint’s creative writing group. Creative writing typically meets the last Monday of each month at 2 p.m.