The House

outside non existent wind floats eerily
while inside the voices of years of memories whisper
in words only they understand
ages of sorrowful secrets kept hidden will remain untold
a sacred pact conspired with and sanctioned by time

and I lie here in my bed listening
but hear nothing
just the wooden walls breathing
and creaking their private language

Digital Drawing

Digital Drawing

© Dawn Whitehand 2015

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2 thoughts on “The House

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