All That Remains Is A Mere House
Tufts of dust
Caper about my mosaic glass.
Blotches of ferric rust
Offer me an unceremonious welcome at last.
Things I'd once befriended
Seem distant and cold.
Deaf ears to the chime of my footsteps
Tell me they've forgotten their companion of old.
I wonder when those mellifluous repartees
Turned into hollow echoes,
And the blithe breeze
Into a stifling coat.
Not an iota of joy they spark,
The ones frequented floors.
The fitments begotten from ebony barks
Barely feel home.
I'm an alien in my own place;
A deadweight in my own space;
A pesky visitor;
Perhaps even a traitor.
Where did my home go?
Where can I ascertain its whereabouts?
Where can I scour the same comfort? I want to know,
For all that remains is a mere house.