The Old Home

.
.
The boards creek and moan
from time and poor carpentry
The nails gripped by aged wood
have become crust collected
and shrunken to form


The bare walls once displayed
the smiling faces of past eons
But now there are only the faded remnants
of square foundations
that once hung on the wall


The stairs complain like an old man
from unsubstantiated fears
The second floor seems solid
only responding to the
remarks of my shoes


The old bedroom
was once the center of attraction
Overlooks the buckled sidewalks
and weed infested yards
of a street that has no cars or people passing by


I stand in silence for the moment
and the moment stands silent for me
And for that moment I lay in time's
eternal graveyard in hopes of
reviving dead dreams