This old house stands alone.
Cold winds whistle around the corners.
The Snow blows in through the broken panes.
Shards of glass litter the floors in a mixed mosaic of
glass, leaves, and snow.

Tiny little creatures' foot prints leave tracks in the ancient dust.
Ashes in the fireplace lie cold and damp.
Rats scurry in the attic.
A bird is captured in death's grip unable to find her way out.
The smell of decay assaults my nose.

Once this was a home with children playing.
A fireplace blazing and each room filled with life.
I sit in the rocker by the silent fire.
My bones ache from the cold.
Joy is gone...life is futile.

Just this old empty house and me.
I look out the rags that once were bright curtains.
The yard has become a field of weeds.

Coyotes howl at night...
And if you listen you can hear my screams...