The tears come.
Thoughts abandoned.
Enveloped in a movement of pure pain.
Unasked for, undeveloped hints of loss.
A scent of yesterday, and then you're lost.
One last trip into the attic's bay.
Tearing every beat of time away.
Windows open, dust aroused.
A cloud of memories breaks out.
Your heart beats loud.
Your breath is short.
For this is it, the parting moment
of a past about to be destroyed.
The house was old.
The owners had succumbed
to all the devils that had come.
The angel of death was the last.
She died here, yet her memories live on.
Spun into the walls and drapes.
Moments of great grace and hate.
Falling in the abyss of her youth.
The good and the bad. A little happy
mixed with all the sadness of the present.
Hopes and dreams extinguished
by the flames of growing up
and growing old.
Tears flowing down.
All thought abandoned.
Grief is not an easy thing to feel...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .