A Light In The Window Poem by Chris Ernest Nelson

I have spent a lifetime building this wall.
I had feelings once,
but they are only window dressing now.
It always looks like someone's home,
that there is a fire in the hearth,
that the old man sits comfortably
in his rocking chair,
smoking his easy pipe.
But the walls are cold and very hard.
The door so seldom opened,
it creeks loudly when pushed,
yields only inch by inch
and stalls before it fully gaps.