6 views
fading footsteps
The walls, they listen to whispered thoughts,
The creaking floors, my solace they've caught.
Shadows play their part in this lonesome scene,
A dance of introspection, where I find what's been.
Fading photographs on walls so cold,
Each frame is a story of love untold.
Voices that once filled these echoing halls,
Now silent, like faded footprints on crumbling walls.
The chair across sits vacant, a ghostly reverie,
A table set for two, but only me to see.
A world once warm, now shrouded in despair,
Loneliness, my companion, my constant wear. The silence is heavy, a burden to bear, A weight on my chest, a constant despair. The walls close in, and the hours stand still, In the heart of this loneliness, I find no thrill.
No footsteps to echo, no laughter to share, Just the ache of aloneness, an unanswered prayer. A solitary figure in this house of gloom, Loneliness lingers like an eternal tomb. In the solitude's depths, tears find their way, A reminder of love that once held sway.
A symphony of sadness, an artist's cruel stroke, Lonely in my own home, my spirit broke.
© Plasmagrapes
The creaking floors, my solace they've caught.
Shadows play their part in this lonesome scene,
A dance of introspection, where I find what's been.
Fading photographs on walls so cold,
Each frame is a story of love untold.
Voices that once filled these echoing halls,
Now silent, like faded footprints on crumbling walls.
The chair across sits vacant, a ghostly reverie,
A table set for two, but only me to see.
A world once warm, now shrouded in despair,
Loneliness, my companion, my constant wear. The silence is heavy, a burden to bear, A weight on my chest, a constant despair. The walls close in, and the hours stand still, In the heart of this loneliness, I find no thrill.
No footsteps to echo, no laughter to share, Just the ache of aloneness, an unanswered prayer. A solitary figure in this house of gloom, Loneliness lingers like an eternal tomb. In the solitude's depths, tears find their way, A reminder of love that once held sway.
A symphony of sadness, an artist's cruel stroke, Lonely in my own home, my spirit broke.
© Plasmagrapes
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