We were walking in the air -
a room used to be there.
I saw the hangers unclothed
a space without walls
all the empty halls
stories of lives untold.
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| 📸Emslichter on pixabay |
We were walking all through there -
now just rooms in the air.
I saw all of the remains
broken heaped up mess
rooms many, now less
open to the wind and rains.
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| 📸Tama66 on pixabay |
We can see further on now -
view wide open somehow.
I feel the stirrings of souls
visiting this place
rooms of empty space
as stories of lives unfold.
Theresa M ©2007
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| 📸Jody Grove on Flickr |
I wrote this poem years ago, back in 2007. I'm not sure what inspired it, but nonetheless here it is. Now as I read it I think of many homes torn down from long ago, like the beloved childhood country home of my mother. And another one nearby that I lived in for eleven years and considered it my first real home where I went through a lot of changes that helped me grow. I found it recently torn down. And now as I see images of the bombed out homes in Ukraine, I can't help but weep. Thus, I dedicate this poem to Ukrainian refugees. May you find a new home of safety and comfort. God bless.
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| my pic |
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