The Ancestral Home

A grey wall bears heavy memories.

With the scent of old paine,

and weathered chalk,

distant sounds of clatter in the kitchen

And a lone dog or two barking a tireless rebuttal to my arrival

I look up at the long flight of unpainted steps,

beckoning silently,

up.

A stone table, heavy set chairs lined up against,

green and chipped with age.

I sit, but the cold bades me in,

past heavy metal grills and open doors,

into the darkness of within,

yet warm with what was.

A light shivers tungsten,

swaying with the smell of rain,

yet outside lies the damp night air,

and crickets cry in vain.

A small screen, news droning within,

and the distant smell of dinner peeps in

past tired eyes and dry hands

into eager nostrils

Clanging of the wok

and vegetable oil dancing amidst dead greens

I sit, head furtively to one side,

balanced on a stoned arm

As a voice calls the time from long ago

I stand, as the floor crumbles 

a moldy cake

I open my eyes to a gluttony sea of green

drowning what's left of these memories

I awake to just grainy images

and an echo of what was

Betrayed by the greed of children

She smiles a lonely goodbye

I awake to just grainy images

and an echo of what was

I awake to just grainy images

and an echo of what was

I awake to just

you and me