3 years ago
foshstar10
in English · 2,083 Views
likes 7clips 2comments 2
This house
This house was quiet, creek of the wood echoes. Now i see nothing but a house i do not know. I see faces so familiar, but i keep telling myself i dont. Tears from nothing, anger from nothing. If the house collapsed, would i be buried with it? A house i was so used to, is now a mere destination i visit. I sleep, and eat here, but that is all. Stress is taking over my mother and father. Doing everything they can to keep this house theirs. I cannot move, everywhere i go, i see a different face. No attempt being made to aide the helpless. Selfish, spending money on things that can only satisfy your cravings. How do you help someone, if all their life they barely made it. Do you push them til they break, yet everything isnt as good when its broken. When the leaves fall, they stay there. The winter comes, the winter leaves, the spring is coming. No sign of attempt. No sign of hope. A helpless soul just living off the help of the kind hearted. I dont know this house anymore.
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2 comments
The transition between a home and a house lies more in experience changes than in memory. In memories, the home still lives on even as the house itself becomes tainted: this is the feeling I get form your piece. Thansk for sharing @foshstar10
3 years ago·Reply
20
@foshstar10 This poem didn't really make me sad until I read the last line: "I don't know this house anymore." While that's what the whole poem was trying to say, the direct statement of it at the end was very powerful
3 years ago·Reply
20