Home…
Is a memory;
A recall to where I grew up.
Some ever lost place,
Torn down, years ago.
Now, just thoughts.
An abandoned, falling down house,
Gone to seed.
That, on lonely nights like these,
I crawl into a small window in the brain
And talk to my ghosts
As we play, through morning,
In the large gap of its synapse,
Because, by then, I wake up and leave…
9.15.8 John Tansey (Original Version)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ah, yes but the memories you have are very alive! ! Very touching write, am going though something similar at the present time....... bonnie