My house has echoes of a broken world
and ghosts within it cannot wish me well;
and yet my garden's long forgot her smell
and when I cross the threshold I am swirled
Then there's the drive. My car is cursed for sure;
but looking through its windows I see bright.
One day these carcasses I'll not endure,
removing every dust mote of her blight.
Looking for photos from Facebook to send
a friend or two, I saw her minuscule,
commenting. Such a shock made my heart rend.
I'd to lie down shivering - what a fool!
What have I learned but how to die a death?
I'll not collude with its stark waste of breath.
..
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Keep The Home Fires Burning
PoetryA poetry Collection. Now Lunk has taken to his bed, swearing not to write one more word about C, and muttering 'bloody garden', it behoves (Love that word, don't you?) me (and Anima) to fill out his shoes, with soil and flower seed. So we will be 'e...
