Empty House Poem

The house is old.

The floors creek and crack,

The walls are near empty and filled with tacks.

Shapes of picture frames are hung like ghosts,

Not here to tell the homes history,

when they are needed the most.

Who used to live here?

my mind starts to wonder,

Than it clicks in my head,

like a clap of thunder.

Check the old public records!

Away I dash,

Leaving behind my cap and my sash.

The snow is so cold,

I don't get very far.

I cant seem to find anything,

or locate my car.

Hmmm... I wonder,

Scratching my head.

I remember parking here,

next to the shed.

Perhaps a burglar has stolen my car?

I think if I'm quick,

He wont get very far.

I return to the old house,

and let out a deep groan,

when memory serves me,

there isn't a phone.

Then I look in the mirror,

but no one is there!

I brush my hand on my head,

where there should be my hair.

I feel nothing,

nor see my hand.

I began to panic.

I don't understand.

Where am I?

Where is my stuff?

than I yell very loud,

"Is this some kind of joke?"

but no words nor sound came when I spoke!

I return to the table where I left my stuff,

to find my hat and sash stinking like musk,

worse yet,

The keys to my car are covered with rust,

and when I lift up the map it crumbles to dust.

I'm panicked and I wonder,

What's going on here?

Then, like a solitary note played on a piano,

I am struck with fear.

I walk to the old bedroom,

its up the stairs,

some steps have broken,

over the years.

I find in the bed and old kitty cat,

I reach out my hand and give him a pat.

The old cat stretches and lets out a yawn,

acts like it sees something,

but whatever it is - is gone.

"Hey old boy!" I yell,

"Look at me!"

and the old cat blinks again as if trying to see,

then stretches its back and farts lazily.

I move to the dresser,

It's nearby the bed.

Inside I find the old letter,

this is what it read:

"Dear Elouise,

I'm going away.

I really do love you,

I wish I could stay."

Inside the note is a photo of me,

beside me a man who is down on one knee.

Memories start flooding me with tinges of pain.

At the same moment the tin roof and shutters start to bang,

a storm is rolling in, pounding them harshly with rain.

Tears roll down my cheeks,

with a ferocity that cant be tamed,

finally the home owner in my memory, is named.