.
.
Life is more than brick and motar
life resides
Inside the structure

Every house has it's bones
Broken by time
and then they're gone

You can feel the past that's speaking
The laughter , chatter
and the weeping

Everyone says to you do not go
There is nothing there
But the pain you know

Oh , the moments that were made
When they placed your body
in the grave

Now the birds sing and play
The new blue sky
takes my breath away

Still I am saddened
The loss immense
Even gone the picket fence

Every house that once was home
Made of brick , motar
wood or stone

Becomes a cenotaph to the memories made
To their past that's missing
And to those who stayed