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Contributed by bmjones0555 on Saturday, 18th February 2012 @ 04:21:18 PM in AEST
Topic: StoryPoetry



The floors squeak like a squawking crow
Walls cracked from ceiling to trim
The smell of dust surrounds me
The beautiful colors now seem dim

Memories flow through my mind
Like a chill in the morning wind
Memories are the story of the past
Takes you back where you have been

In the back yard by the cellar
Is where I took my first steps to walk
Inside the walls of this old farm house
Is where I said my first words to talk

I can smell mommas homemade cookies
Hear daddy choppin wood in the yard
The old stairs that lead to the basement
Is where I got my first scar

I can remember playing with my good friend Charlie
In the big creek around the bend
Trying to find rocks and treasures
He became my very best friend

I often come back and visit this place
When I have a little time to spend
I let my memories begin to flow
Let my memories ride the wind

This place now stands vacant
Destroyed from the roof to the foundation below
This place is junk in one mans eyes
But to me this place is called home




Copyright © bmjones0555 ... [ 2012-02-18 16:21:18]
(Date/Time posted on site)





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Re: Home (User Rating: 1 )
by dvtpdw on Saturday, 18th February 2012 @ 05:29:42 PM AEST
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What a great write, and a great story to be told. I really enjoyed this. Thanks for sharing.


Re: Home (User Rating: 1 )
by JohnnyFallen on Saturday, 18th February 2012 @ 10:12:41 PM AEST
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Wow, that's a good poem. I like how you put memories in there regardless if you made them up or not. Nobody really lets go of the past, if they do, how should they remember it? ^^

- Johnny


Re: Home (User Rating: 1 )
by CARAAAAA on Wednesday, 7th March 2012 @ 12:28:47 AM AEST
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nice


Re: Home (User Rating: 1 )
by ladyfawn on Wednesday, 4th June 2014 @ 07:31:06 PM AEST
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absolutely beautiful! this is my favorite one of
yours:) keep writing!

hugs n' love nessa




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