PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I love to wake up early when I can feel my house’s mystique.

I love to walk her rooms in solitude and listen to her speak.

I imagine she is always speaking…releasing memories I can hear

but in the quiet of the morning…they come in loud and clear.

So many moments I recall as I silently walk her halls…

because every memory we’ve ever made here

is imbedded in her walls.

She has seen a host of celebrations…everyone she stores away

so in the morning, when I stop to listen…she has quite a lot to say.

All the memories created here…babies crawling on these floors

toddlers walking, children singing…teenagers slamming doors.

Family dinners, birthdays, good times…the accomplishments…the miscues.

This house has seen much happiness…and her share of sadness too.

It’s as if time has been suspended…I know not why…or how

But I can hear and see and smell and taste these memories

as if they’re happening…right now.

Each step I take there is a memory, 

on each piece of furniture

behind each door

And I gladly pick and choose them…like a child in a candy store.

Realizing soon enough the day will begin…

for when sunlight replaces nightfall…

I know these wonderful cherished old memories…

will fade back into the walls.

Perhaps that’s why I love waking up early

not knowing what memories will be there when I arrive

not knowing as my house speaks to me…

what memories will come alive.