Curtains are eyelids, blinking trails of rusty rain from cheeks still as panes.
Glass glows with vague reflections of love and life long gone –
Broken promises, baby bottles,
Whispers and dreams and bumps in the night.
House peers through soul’s eyes and
Remembers it all –
Daytime delights and nighttime ghosts of
Christmases past, festooned with magical light.
Curtains are eyelids to shut out the dust.
Hollow halls are diary pages marked with happy tears and
Funerals and grocery lists;
Words on stained walls are the shell that remains.
Furniture is gone and
Footsteps no longer linger at
That last stair that always creaked.
House has been turned inside out,
Vomiting the living into greener pastures.
But curtains are eyelids and
No one can scrape away the soul
That peers wistfully from eyes of glass…