The House Poem by Frederick Francis

I walk grudgingly by.
The scraping gravel under foot
Echoes in my mind.
Step, step, step…Exhale.
The viscous air yearns to stay my progress.
I will it to.
But I’m not in control when
I’m looking for you.

I am not looking.
It’s my pain that seeks you.
Desperately seeking to renew its existence.
Its insatiable thirst
It fulfills with persistence.
I’m its 'Stockholm – esque' hostage,
Compliantly in toe.
I don’t ask for my freedom.
I know it won’t go.

Each trace of your scent,
Fleeting glimpse of your hair,
My progress evaporates,
I’m delivered back into despair.