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Array
(
[sid] => 30720
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => An Empty House
[time] => 2004-01-04 06:43:27
[hometext] => This could fit into several categories, but there's a few concepts woven into this story.
[bodytext] => A barren street with many leafless trees Always inhabited by a cold, painful breeze Like clockwork falls the continual snow A pulsing snowglobe in endless flow Down at the end of the weathered road Where the cracked sidewalk stopped and the concrete bowed Reaching the extreme of the weathered road I met the mansion, the crumbling abode Across the facade the erosion did climb Truly this is one that was forgotten by time As a spectre with no numbers on the mailbox The landscape a wasteland of dust and rocks Layers of dirt upon the windows encrusted The door is unlocked, the hinges are rusted The front steps and porch made of planks decaying A lonely stoop slowly degenerating This somehow feels familiar, how do I compare It's like coming home, except nobody's there Passing through the threshold, cobwebs are scattered Everything's broken, torn asunder and tattered This hovel of rotten and fallen beams I know i've seen it in my nightmares and dreams Askew on the walls hang paintings in pairs Still I am drawn to the spiralling stairs Through the hallway where the shadows loom At last I reach the master bedroom Sitting all alone in a rocking chair Thinking silently awaited the nightmare Inches of dust blanket books on the shelf These stories feel close, I ask are they about myself I go toward the window, toward the mess it had become Trying to recall this as the window I threw myself from One last time I look out at that street At all the things I never will meet Yet, of every place my body will roam This is the one that felt most like home [comments] => 7 [counter] => 233 [topic] => 13 [informant] => Vitreous_Soul [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
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