Member Rara Avis
This house is darker now, as candles burn past molten quick,
The furnace ever colder now, its flames infirm and sick.
A sheen of slowly drifting dust alights on all in sight,
And memories are not enough to warm this house at night.
Your picture hangs on shadowed wall, 'tween stains of sallow green,
As eyes that danced, in times gone by, trace movements yet unseen.
I know it's just illusion, caused by shimmers in dim light,
But memories are not enough to light this house at night.
Your laughter hides in every creak of every rustic board,
As house joints settle for the night with sighs I long ignored.
Your voice yet whispers through each room, but labor though I might,
The memories are not enough to hear this house at night.
This missing you remains a quiet, ever-spreading ache,
A hole that, still unfilled, fills every hour I'm awake.
How can something not really here, by dint of being gone,
Bring such an empty pain into my house from dusk to dawn?
Your touch upon my shoulder is a phantom of my mind,
I will not turn, I cannot turn, for fear of what I'll find.
The squeeze lasts but a moment more, and then, like you, is quit,
With just enough of gentle strength that I'll remember it.
I take a deeper, longer breath, then slowly stand and tread
Down darkened hall, past silent bath, then to my waiting bed.
How much darker, colder, silent, would my house forever be
Had I not known your name at least just momentarily?
The loss you left behind, the emptiness I'm going through,
Exist today only because they once were filled with you.
I close my eyes, brush tears on cotton, knowing it's all right.
My memories will be enough to fill my dreams tonight.