No more newborn cries in the middle of the night
But still a home
No more spilled milk dribbled on the table
But still a home
No more sticky handprints on the fridge
But still a home
No more toys spread through all the rooms
But still a home
No more muddy foot prints across the floor
But still a home
No more morning rush to make the school bus
But still a home
No more bedtime tales to be read
But still a home
No more partially finished projects covering every surface
But still a home
No more music from trombone scales
But still a home
No more candles to blow out at a child’s Birthday party
But still a home
No more chlorine scented laundry room after practices and meets
But still a home
No more sand tracked in from the softball field
But still a home
No more teenage drama or slammed doors
But still a home
No more loud meals around the table
But still a home
No more laughter on movie and game nights
But still a home
No more tip toeing in after curfew
But still a home
An empty nest is still a home
….. just waiting for the noise and mess to return
About the Creator
B Sweeney
“Those who wish to sing, always find a song.”
Swedish Proverb
But what happens when you lose your voice?
We'z Walking on a Path Ruled By Numbers
This road has felt endless, yet limited; every step tracked. Inching away along this path, I feel trapped. Confined. Left to this narrow passage that may one day amount to something greater. Time is not a concept. Only distance. From start to finish, I laugh and cry and attempt to convince myself that this is worth it. I cannot stray. I must keep going. Every step etched, is a step taken, is measured as more than before. I cannot even recall how I got here. Maybe I don’t even really exist. Just another tick marking off a perceived presence. Of what though? I am just another line drawn. Nothing more, nothing less.
By Oneg In The Arcticabout 18 hours ago in Fiction
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