Wooden Home

And you don’t have to build on this wooden home

With baseboards rotten and memories forgotten

The presence in vines coursing away and upward

Like old blood turned to mold onward to heaven

Reaching for the light

It’s dark now though and the winds are growing colder

The moon is light without the warmth

Night after the day

Wishing for something else to stay

Blue skies gone away

And you don’t have to come back

To this place



Or try



To do anything else with this frail frame

Nothing good can ever remain the same 

Let go and forget my name

© The Sad Owl