Author Information
Great House
In a house made of remembering rooms,
I rest on dusty cushions, listening for something to confess;
Incandescent bulbs glow with softened light,
And I hold a chipped mug filled with old stories.
The walls seem to breathe with lessons half-spoken,
Each step stirring echoes of what I left behind;
An expired fire extinguisher gathers dust in the corner,
A small reminder that we’re never fully prepared.
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 let go of what no longer needs to stay.
