The Empty House
Tired paintwork flaking and faded,
Hipped roof bowing and slates slipping,
Empty now and abandoned to time.
Echoes of the past captured in faded pictures on the wall,
Marooned in a sea of weeds as ivy climbs the walls,
Plaster falling from the ceiling as water seeps in,
Time and the weather taking their toll,
Yesterday's full of life and joyous laughter.
Home to generations past but just ghosts left now,
Old and crumbling like a fallen tree returning to nature,
Utopia once when children ran through the place,
Striped of every valuable and left open to the elements,
Empty of life now except for the mice.
By Christopher Tye
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lines are formed aptly and elegantly, staying withing Acrostic boundary to paint a real picture of a falling heritage. Great job Chris. Thank you or sharing.