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 a numb

sensation presses into me.

The sounds of the world soften, all

turns black and white, I close my eyes

and breathe. A small uncertain thought

brought me back to my timber framed

cabin, yet nothing here remains

anymore. The clock will not turn

back and return me to the past,

forward is the only way. Tears

run down my cheek. Pain? No. Sorrow

for those bittersweet days now gone.