The Abandoned House

The door to his self was left ajar,
Rusted and cracked,
Beckoning him.

It creaked to happiness as he entered and made way through the dark.

He overlooked through the window of his heart,
Broken to the dreams,
Shattered apart.

The stale air flowed silently
As he made way through the cobwebs of his thoughts,

The wall of resistance had crumbled to the storm.
His childhood voice echoed across the hall,
The tilted painting hanging on a hollow wall.

All the secrets hidden by the paints and plasters lay damped,
downtrodden on the floor,

As he walked into his house,
Once abandoned,
On a silent hill,
By the seashore.

The abandoned house


Author: Hariom PrabhakarSingh

Finding solace in travel and writing.

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