If this house could be what it has been
it would tell no lies, re-frame the life
that moved within leather, flame, silver, lace.
Doors shut in and breathe out laughter, cries;
floors hold echoing footsteps fresh or failed;
walls are thick with imprints of touch,
murmurs like charms against difficult fates.
Many things that could not be said
burrowed in like snakes, beetles, foxes,
sly and beautiful, disappearing from the
redolent air and revelations of light,
this house a ruin, abhorred, left for foraging.
Yet the aggrieved abode resists emptiness,
leans into harboring woods, birdsong, rain or ice,
holds out for useful salvaging or a last liberation.
For a visitor, an eye cast about its demise,
a lingering hand held into the darkness.
Tales for Life 
Nicee
Very beautiful poem! I love the haunting, hopeless mood of the poem. It suits the poem well. I think the pictures are beautiful too. Very nice poem!
Robin, thank you for finding it worth your time! Yes, I have visited that house often over the years. I find it fascinating.(The girl is my granddaughter, the man is my son–she was spooked by it a bit!)
Thank you for the link!
So intriguing – an adventure for the youngsters
this is really beautiful, I read your stories and enjoy the way you tell them. but this poem is really so touching. thank you
Glad to hear you enjoy reading my writing. Poetry is important to me as well as prose. (Photography is a hobby that gives me much pleasure, too.) Thanks for letting me know!