In The House

Our House of Dreams


It was a home where children giggled when tickled
And the smell of finely chopped onions and garlic
Wafted through the rooms more tempting than slick
Chanel perfume. With friends we gathered round
Tables laden with food and talked till hours were
No longer counted. Where Jesse and Tom and
Too many men fell asleep on sofas. And there
In the fine print, was happiness. Our nest
Built of mud and grass and spit bound tight
Holding us together, cradling us as we slept
And watching over our clutch, ready for flight
To soar as Swallows bound for Africa. Now it is just a house.
An empty shell like the time before the rain
When the birds stop singing and an eerie
Silence hangs in the air. It sits still. Like the refrain
Of forgotten promises hung out to dry on a cold afternoon.
And I think of what might have been.What was and is
And now never will be. All our futures reduced to this.

All the unfulfilled dreams
All the unspoken words
All the lost tomorrows.