The House That Held Her back

The House That Held Her back

Eleven years, the walls still whisper,

A quiet ache that will not wither,

Where shadows stretch a little too long,

And silence hums its mournful song.

She stepped through the door years ago,

Hope cradled like a fragile glow,

But the air was heavy, the windows cold,

And the floors bore secrets, silent and old.

Day by day, her spirit waned,

Like rain on a roof that always remained,

Each breath a battle, each night a plea,

For something more than misery.

Yet maybe a house will turn up soon,

Beneath a kinder sky, a softer moon,

Where walls don’t whisper, floors don’t sigh,

And every breath feels light — a quiet sigh.

A place where curtains dance with sun,

And every morning feels begun,

Not weighed by years of silent pain,

But open windows kissed by rain.

Perhaps a door will welcome wide,

No shadows lurking just inside,

And rooms will hum a gentle tune,

Of life that blossoms bright — and soon.

For home’s not bricks nor roof nor beams,

But hope that mends forgotten dreams.

And maybe soon, a life renewed —

A simple wish, long overdue.