The old house is long gone but its memories linger
fossilized in my dreams recurring unchanging.
Time is suspended as events congealed into one
a mosaic in a single film the dusts of more than
fifty years settling all over.
Soft shuffling of unseen feet on the floors
exuding the moldy scent of decay.
Tunes of the banjo strummed by adept fingers
echoes of laughter hush voices murmured prayers
muffled wails.
A casket is carried out through the front door
bearing a dear one whose voice will never be heard
again.
Lost ghosts floating from room to room
the last tenants before the house crumbled of old
age.
The floorboards is sighing when the mosaic
dissolves the apparitions unfreeze and fade away.
