#WritcoPoemChallenge
Lost in time,
weaved with memories,
It was but an old house.

The wood rots.
It was far from easy living,
but it was home.

Grass continued to flutter restlessly,
the space between here and there felt short then,
memories lost in the fields of mourning.

It is better, I think, to have lived through what that was,
than to have never lived till now.

In this old house,
where memories are distorted
lost in time,
and the wood rots where they lay,
untouched,
the day you departed.