THE HOUSE THAT CRIED AT NIGHT

THE HOUSE THAT CRIED AT NIGHT

The house began to cry at twelve,
Its windows filled with rain,
The floorboards whispered underneath,
She won’t come home again.

Her slippers waited by the fire,
Her coat stayed on the door,
Her shadow crossed the landing,
Then vanished through the floor.

I heard her singing in the walls,
The song she sang to me,
Before the darkness took her hand,
And would not set her free.

I climbed the stairs she used to climb,
And called her precious name,
But every room stood cold and still,
And silence was to blame.

Her photograph was on the bed,
Her smile still warm and bright,
I kissed her face with trembling lips,
Then held it through the night.

The clock downstairs forgot to tick,
The moon forgot to shine,
The house had lost its beating heart,
The day she ceased being mine.

I felt her fingers touch my cheek,
As gentle as before,
Then heard her footsteps slowly fade,
Behind the bedroom door.

I begged the dawn to bring her back,
I begged until I bled,
But dawn cannot awaken love,
When love is lying dead.

The rain ran down the windowpane,
Like tears the house could weep,
While I remained beside her ghost,
Too broken down to sleep.

And still the house cries every night,
As midnight fills the air,
Because the walls remember her,
And know she isn’t there.