The old house stands alone and abandoned
Where life once used to thrive.
The old picket fence is broken.
The roof is opened up to the sky.
The well-trodden path to the doorway
Is overgrown with the passing of time.
The garden where once as kids we would play,
Now only a broken swing and memories remain.
Rooms which once echoed with laughter
Now lay silent, forlorn and bare.
Boarded up windows lock in the past
Where only ghosts now meet to confer.
If empty rooms could give up their secrets,
So many stories I'm sure they would tell.
But stubbornly they cling on to the past
And of a childhood they refuse to reveal.
The old house now stands abandoned
Derelict, forgotten, all alone.
Locked inside are my childhood dreams
In this old house which once was my home.
Visiting The Home Where I Was Born
Ghosts Of The Past
©
John P. Read
more by John P. Read
Published by Family Friend Poems August 2020 with permission of the Author.
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ABOUT THE POET:
John Peter Read was born in the East End of London in 1948. He was brought up by his Nan and mother, as his father left home when he was 5 years old. At the age of 15, John left school with just a basic education. While in school, he wrote little rhymes just for fun. A couple of his religious poems were published by the Christian church in the...
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