#WritcoPoemChallenge

Lost in time,
weaved with memories,
It was but an old house,
overgrown with vines and trees.

He died there,
in his bedroom on the second floor.
He took a gun to his head,
pulled the trigger.

It happened many moons ago,
I can still feel his presence.
Standing below his window,
I can still see his essence.

We used to play hide and seek when we were small,
running through the hallway jumping out from behind the wall.

I'm not sure what really happened,
things took a dark turn.
I'll never forget you,
holding his ashes within this black urn.