Where did our pale love go?
One day it packed its bags and left
And our home became a house and so
We strangers walked the halls, past mirrors lined with filigree cracks
Reflecting lives and wars

Solace found, a tale of woe
Which I pay until my dying day
When does home become a house to go?
Secrets in the floors and walls, that play amongst the ornaments
Telling tales of rise and fall

Where did our pale love go?
Left, unable, unwilling to return
From a house, not a home, no more
Away from what I valued most, all guilty tears, bittersweet regret
New house, not a home at all

Well, I’m on fire this week. Here’s another poem I composed.

As with all my poems, it’s deeply personal. But hopefully it speaks to all.