Literature
Red Door
A timber framed house, where the sweet
scent of cider drifts on the air.
Once a home, once a getaway
where summer days went with ease. Snow
lay on the ground, when aspen burned
and the comfort of those winter
days were felt. The past seemed beyond
reason, to never dare return
back to such forgotten times. Time
crept further and further, to stand
here seems shallow. A timber framed
cabin, smaller, worn by seasons,
and left to neglect. My feet step
on unknown land, a mystery
to my mind. Relics of distant
memories dance before me, back
into this world where joy and pain
occurred. What went wrong here again?
This was a place once, I lived here
once, but now not at all. Slowly
I approach, once this timber house
had a red door. Now, nothing stands
against the elements, it leans.
Oh, this was once a happy place.
Fields and woods, a lake and sweet dreams,
and this timber framed house. Nothing
remains, how hollow this place feels?
A chill crawls up my skin and checks
my melancholy, yet
