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After all these years
the light in the corridor remains dim
the curtains drape haphazardly
over window frames buckled and swollen
the carpet beneath feet barely there
as if with one it is to the floor
that creaks with every tentative step
carefully placed
there is no place in this house
that reflects an image
devoid of mirrors
glass tainted
with hopes and dreams
of the shadow that lingers
long and scared within the rooms and hallways
the eyes that glint but barely
dulled by failures and hardships
yet somewhere a long time gone
there was hope still
to see if life could be breathed into the house still
alone, in the shadows it’s been
though many have come briefly.
Alone it’s been
not a flame, not even cinder still,
the wait of years unyielding.
Will it be, ever, even briefly
that life shall repeat the hopes
the dreams it’s built
only to watch it lay still.