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Great House
In a great house of remembering rooms,
I rest on dusty cushions, listening for confessions;
Incandescent bulbs glow with softened emotion,
And I hold a chipped mug, filled with old stories.
The walls seem to breathe with lessons half-spoken,
Each step stirring echoes of moments left behind;
An expired fire extinguisher gathers dust in the corner,
A small reminder that we arrive unready.
By a forgiving fireplace, the past feels gentler,
Its flames reshaping what once burned too bright;
Fading freckles of memory scatter through my mind,
Like fragments of childhood summers I still keep.
And I wander these halls, no longer a stranger,
Learning which ghosts to keep and which to release;
In this great house, I rebuild what still feels like me,
And leave behind what no longer asks to remain.
