The photo’s gone, the wall is bare;
the Sacred Heart’s been packed away,
leaving the faintest shadow where
the striped wallpaper didn’t fade,
and the piano’s out of tune,
silently waiting all alone
to be polished up and moved,
make music in another home.
The kitchen smells of nothingness.
It once was filled with cake, and chips,
and family rows, and happiness,
and sugared tea that burned your lips.
All of the things that made this home
are packed away, or lost, or gone.
Day 4 of NaPoWriMo, and we are asked to write a sad poem in simple words. They suggest we might think about writing a sonnet. This is a sonnet rhyme scheme, without any syllable count, and without a volta. A sonnot, maybe?
It’s Open Link night at dVerse tonight, so I’ll link this there, too.