A tattered, old house sits silently,
stilled memories imprisoned in walls.
Hingeless doors bang incessantly
no longer relinquishing the calls
of ardent lover or passing friend
but only to the fury of the wind.
...as shutters tap to the sound of silence.
The weathered boards creak and groan
at every guarded step, "let it be."
Trails of shifting sands sit alone
as the walls whisper "nothing to see."
Tumbleweeds gather in the corner there
where Christmas pine once filled the air.
...as shutters tap to the sound of silence.
The dormant arbor waits in disarray
for morning glory kisses & rosebuds hue.
Lost, the laughter of children's play,
long since gone like morn's glistening dew
on vibrant greens, violets and roses red.
Now, whipping winds remove the graying dead.
...as shutters tap to the sound of silence
Threatening shattered window panes,
the rumbling heavens surrender here.
Sputtering, spattering droplets of rain
quench the thirst of the earth so bare.
The tin roof echoes every solemn drop
bidding the cloudburst never to stop.
...as shutters tap to the sound of silence
Once filled with promises, hopes & dreams,
blooming with love and kindred fair,
this home stands deserted, disposed, rotting at seams
only the ghosts of remembrance live here.
Forgotten reminders of lives gone to past
lie dormant..silent..only the memories last.
...as shutters tap to the sound of silence