Homesick
I am homesick, walking amongst my memories.
Waiting for sun to crack through rain clouds,
Like broken glass scattered across the pavement.
Hanging over an aged roof top,
Loose shingles sing to me about how things used to be.
Barely a whisper on the wind.
A thousand tiny black birds flying listlessly,
Over black rose petals in the garden out front,
Where weeds grow in place of lilacs.
Afraid to step over the wooden walk way,
Through cobwebs and dust nestled against tattered picture frames,
Hung along the wall by the staircase.
Vacant windows with hearts drawn by breath and fingertip,
Surrounded by wallpaper etched with innocence,
I leave, but I will walk there again.
