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Visiting The Home Where I Was Born

On paying a visit to the home where I was born, the memories came flooding back.

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Ghosts Of The Past

John P. Read © more by John P. Read

Published: August 24, 2020

The old house stands alone and abandoned
Where life once used to thrive.
The old picket fence is broken.
The roof is opened up to the sky.

The well-trodden path to the doorway
Is overgrown with the passing of time.
The garden where once as kids we would play,
Now only a broken swing and memories remain.

Rooms which once echoed with laughter
Now lay silent, forlorn and bare.
Boarded up windows lock in the past
Where only ghosts now meet to confer.

If empty rooms could give up their secrets,
So many stories I'm sure they would tell.
But stubbornly they cling on to the past
And of a childhood they refuse to reveal.

The old house now stands abandoned
Derelict, forgotten, all alone.
Locked inside are my childhood dreams
In this old house which once was my home.

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ABOUT THE POET:

I became a member of FamilyFriendsForum in 2011 one year after my wife Ann passed away. I share my thoughts through poetry, it helps with the pain of grieving. God Bless. A poems but a Whisper That lingers on the Breeze. A few unspoken Words Appear like falling Leaves. A tapestry of Memories Dreams that haunt the Mind Jumbled words scrambled Thoughts Borrowed from the passing of Time. John Read.

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