An eerie silence echoes through the creaking

Their is nobody home, And no soul to sing
or paint life into the air. No busy
kitchen, with tea and coffee, or
cookies and milk. Their is no light
in the fireplace, And no laughter
in the once lively kitchen.

Furniture still sits within unused rooms,
covered with dust, As though abandoned and forgotten.
Beds are made, but why bother?
Nobody sleeps in the beds, nobody has for ages.

Ambiance roams throughout, causing
a ghost-like atmosphere. It is cold, lifeless,
and empty.

This isn’t a home anymore of memories.

This is just an old house without life. 

Withering away. 





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