The old house remains standing
The old home that houses my scent, tears, and sweat dripping
Soldiers, paper-cranes, and drums beating
As I hear my own voice resonating through the hollow hall
My heart lept and wept as the shadows began to settle
I did not scream to stir the silence
Shall my eyes of the crescent moon
Illuminate in a unitive memory
As I cross the shadows in this quiet Winter night
The engine roars of the cars, puffs of smoke in flight
My front door gazes amongst the old halls of dust
The once clear laughter turns into a gush of tears, wishing
They were here.
