Love Is A Monument A House Poem by Mark Heathcote

Love Is A Monument A House



Love is a monument a house when it's empty
Where the wind climbs the rickety spiral stairs
A ghost in her nightdress hovers in her penitentiary
Looking on dead golden pastures unawares
The beatings of her heart don't make a sound
Not one, chime crunch of leaves searching around.

Love is a monument a house when it's empty
Like a disused Sunday school with a piano
Playing only to a scarecrow looking back all edgy
In the distance black crows circle in the shadows
Then come to rest on a rusty old iron harrow,
Above someone's long-forgotten dry bones.

Love is a monument a house when it's empty
Lost in its own self-importance, eerie
All the widows echo. Who has taken over my room?
When the dead and the living appear & disappear
Like a lonely child staring back at the full-moon
Waiting for sunlights yesteryear to reappear.

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