Faded and long neglected
Hidden behind all the
Broken dreams of childhood
Once so crowded and loud
With so many voices
All screaming to be heard
You were so full of life
Now just a dying house
With nothing left to give
Faded and long neglected
Hidden behind all the
Broken dreams of childhood
Once so crowded and loud
With so many voices
All screaming to be heard
You were so full of life
Now just a dying house
With nothing left to give
Um Espaço de Reflexão e Evolução Através da Linguagem
Poetry, Stories, and Other Musings With Spilt Ink
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Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
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Life is a patchwork of moments — laughter, solitude, everyday joys, and quiet aches. Through scribbled stories, I explore travels both far and inward, from sunrise over unfamiliar streets to the comfort of home. This is life as I see it, captured in ink and memory. Stick around; let's wander together.
Almost Meaningful
Jerry Brotherton 
maybe the time has come to go, to let a new young family in to this house.
A new chapter, a new dream for those who grew here.
Lovely poem
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Alas, even this house could not stand against the ruthlessness of nature. It only exists now in memories.
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You express your own feelings and memories so beautifully, Jerry. But a house, while it stands, is perhaps still capable of becoming another man’s dreams and history. It looks to be worth preserving in some form or other.
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Roland, the Missouri river flood took away every trace of my youth. My hometown lives only in my thoughts.
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So sad. But so moving that memory can so powerfully recapture yourpast.
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Simple, poignant beauty of the highest order. A house still yes but the home has gone. Love this Jerry !
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Now, even the house is gone and only lives on in memories
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Jerry, I always feel visiting places from our childhood always leaves a void and you have captured this in your excellent poem.
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Unfortunately, the great Missouri river flood of 1993 even erased this. Nothing is left of my hometown except memories.
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Sad to hear that Jerry.
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Beautiful words. <3 Sad, though. :'(
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Thank you. The older I get, the more I miss it.
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I can imagine that you would. My childhood home is still standing but it was sold to a farmer who doesn’t keep the farm up like my dad did. Dad always wanted everything in tip-top shape. It’s hard to see it slowly falling apart, begging for someone to love it again. As hard as it is for me, it would be even more difficult if it was no longer there. At least now, there is some hope that someone will have some pity and decide to fix it up again.
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how beautiful to read this, to acknowledge a house that has “housed” and kept memories we just look at and it all comes flooding back. the beauty in the faded exterior like an old black and white photograph.
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I appreciate the comment. The nice thing about memories is they are exactly like we want them to be…sometimes polished truths.
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i like that phrase – polished truths – makes me think of writing something on it – as a borrowed phrase inspired by you
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I could think of no greater honor than for you to accept my gift of inspiration. Write on.
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