In quiet corners, sounds I hear in air,
Where memory lingers, yesterday remains.
The floorboards creak beneath my cautious step,
Each sound a pulse—a heartbeat from the past.
I hear her voice, my mother’s paper voice,
like a lullaby drifts through time and dust.
The beams above extend beyond my reach,
While cobwebs creep like ghosts in dimming light.
I see the cracks where stories once were told,
And dust that falls like secrets from the heights.
Each room holds doors that lead to countless lives,
To laughter, tears, and moments long since gone.
The attic crouches low, a ceiling bare,
While slanted stairs descend to realms below.
This house, a fortress built of love held dear,
Is older than my grandmother’s embrace.
I’ve stitched together all the broken parts,
Yet still the voices haunt, both sweet and stark.
I wish to linger here, forever stay,
In hallowed halls where time and memory dwell.
WoPoLi 
Leave a comment