These old
crumbling walls within this crumbling house,
Tell no
tales of glory days from yesteryear.
The only
trace of splendor from man or mouse,
Lives on and
alone in a red leather chair.
The man
could not part with his one oasis,
In a world
revolving toward ruin with each turn.
He thought
love within the walls was the basis,
But somehow
love was the essence yet unlearned.
They grew
apart with the change of the seasons.
Each month’s
calendar page that was ripped away,
Proved that
there were no longer many reasons,
To preserve
the love or the house from decay.
Lost in a
fog of pipe smoke, he sits alone.
In his red
leather chair he’s safe and at ease.
His
delusions convince him she’s still at home.
The fine
house built on love is all that he sees.
Awww...how sad. So full of deep emotion.
ReplyDelete'love was the essence yet unlearned'
Too late he learned... how sad.
Great poem.
I saw sadness too.
ReplyDeleteA sad delusion, possibly the worst.
ReplyDelete...Love's the essence yet unlearned... How poetic in my ears this was... And so many great lines of sadness and fall... Yet still delivering hope t'wards the end.
ReplyDeleteYour blog is incredibly lovely ... this poem a perfect reflection of your talent.
ReplyDeletevery nice.....thanks for sharing all
ReplyDeleteA man's chair is his castle...
ReplyDeleteThanks everyone for all the comments. My husband shares his castle with our dog, Tess.
ReplyDelete