The Empty House

Wandering by the lonesome dale,

I have seen the meandering brook.

Besides the sandy lands of the vale,

A house has pulled my look.

Elegant bod with the tallest roof,

Made it stand in the crowd aloof.

Whitish walls with algal green,

The iron gates held rust.

My baffled eyes had never seen,

Such thick layers of dust.

I walked inside the broken door,

With fuming hopes to explore.

My pensive mind has pondered lot,

To sketch the possible cause.

Held in swirls of fuzzy thoughts,

My soul has smelled a pause.

The empty house still flaunts a smile,

With broken dreams in a clumsy style.

An old stone with scribbled lines,

I read them one by one.

The house has seen a hundred shines,

Standing beneath the sun.

Years of agony broke each wall,

The aisle, the bedrooms, the living hall.

Their souls still wander in the rooms,

I saw them like a reel.

I saw a few tinge of gloomy fumes,

Wafting like a wheel.

The empty house still holds them close,

Like fettered petals of a crimson rose.