I went wandering in the woods
Where the tallest trees have grown
When I came upon an old abandoned house
With tall, ivy covered walls of stone.
The windows had long since broken
The shards of glass scattered on the floor
and rust had crusted all the iron
upon the beautiful, thick, wooden door.
I walked through the garden
With it's flowers long since overgrown
And when I pulled upon the door
It issued a load and anguished moan.
My feet left trails amid the dust
The walls were yellowed and bare
And in the room not a single thing
Except an old, broken, wooden, chair.
I meandered from the main room
And upon the kitchen stumbled
Next to the old cast iron stove
Part of the wall had crumbled.
I made my way up the stairs
That creaked and groaned with every step
In the first room I found nothing
But a small nest where a bird once slept.
Upon the landing I paused
With only one room left to see
And I thought about the other rooms
And wondered if empty it would be
My hand grasped the copper knob
It turned and opened with ease
And I stood shocked in the doorway
For what I saw made me freeze.
A little bed sat in the corner
The fabric all rotted away
And on the floor, covered by dust
Lay dolls ready for play.
And upon a tiny table
Sat a cute porcelain tea set
Cups and plates, set for four
One of which was a stuffed toy pet.
I left the room without entering
Not wishing to disturb the scene
For though the sight was very sad
It was also peaceful and serene.
I walked away through the woods
Leaving the abandoned house behind
Trying to think of other things
To drive it from my mind.
But I couldn't help but wonder
Who left the house so bare
Emptied every room but one
As though the child still lived there.
I walked straight, not looking back
Until the house was blocked by trees
And until those last few moments
I felt someone watching me.
I thought there was something that I should remember. Something precious I should hold dear. I thought there was a person, who should never leave from here.
If there was such a thing, something I can’t recall, could it really be so bad, if from my memory I let it fall.
Is it something dangerous, that I should fear deep down. Or is it something else entirely, that I should let blossom on the ground.
Is it something that would die, if it left this place. Or is it something prison bound, that wants to get away.
Should I leave this dreamlike state, and risk not knowing in the end, or should I stay here all my days, trying to remember then.
I should not go, I should not stay. I should not hide, I should not pray.
Oh what, Oh what, Oh what should I do. I do not remember, do you?
Dawn now comes
Above the trees
A tiny village
For none to see.
A place of quiet
The peace can break
A powerful insecurity.
A curtain covers
To plant among
The harvest seeds.
This quiet village
You will take
And never leave
From its wake.
I wish that I could hear again
The shouts and squeals
of childhood friends
at play, at the party, at fun
I wonder why I do not know
What it is like
To run the show
For the fun to flow around
I wonder if my child in me
will one day have what it is
that she always thought it meant to be free
like that of a little child
As the balloons fly
with the laughter echos
all through the sky
Oh wonder oh wonder
My child you run
you play and you laugh
to watch you have fun
Takes me right back
I love the sound
of the pound of your feet
as you run all around,
Oh what a treat.
I love you my children
Stay this way a while
run and play and laugh and then
dance and love and grow
Candle whose light burns bright
Amid the darkest veils of night
Cast upon me your warming glow
So that your beauty might yet show.
Candle's flame which seems so fine
Issuing sweet scents of pine
A calming presence to those who care
And who find happiness when you're there.
Candle standing tall and strong
I know eventually you will be gone
As I watch your wax run down your side
your determination is a thing of pride.
Candle, dawn has arrived beyond those mountains
A faint light is slowly creeping past the curtains
You're free to wink out and your flame to die
But this will not be our last goodbye
Tired, fatigued and hungry
A family in need
The Migrant Mother thinking
The children need to eat
Traveling down a hard road
Looking for some light
The Migrant Mother searching
For something good and right
The search for work is endless
Everyone is ill
The Migrant Mother works
To hold onto some good will
Driving down the road again
The tire gets a flat
The Migrant Mother fearing
There is no money for that
Baby John is Hungry
Sally Sue is cold
The Migrant Mother trying
To teach them to be bold
Pa tells of better times
Grandma tells of old
The Migrant Mother tells a tale
Of a place with streets of gold.
Poetry is different from fiction. It has its own way of inspiring and moving people that fiction alone cannot accomplish.
"We are a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for us to earn fees by linking to Amazon.com and affiliated sites.”