A Memory Of Love
I came upon a house so bare.
I knew there could be no one there.
I wished to enter so I knocked.
No one answered. The door was locked.
I saw a window through which I peered
and saw it looked just as I feared,
lonely, deserted, cold and musty
cobwebs hanging, everything dusty.
The need to go inside
was an urgency I could not hide.
Should I break the door or shatter the pane?
Encouragement came when I felt the rain.
I entered slowly and looked around
amazed and astounded at what I found.
Every room was empty but for one,
a bedroom with chair facing towards sun.
Beside the chair was a frame
holding the picture of a girl with no name.
Curiosity got the best of me
so I turned it over and I did see
her name scribbled hastily.
'Janette, my love I give to you
this picture I love to sit and view.'
and then I placed it back.
The house was no longer cold to me
for it housed a loving memory.
I left it right beside the chair
as if the lover still was there.
Upon leaving the bedroom I closed the door
so it would stay as it was before.
My intrusion on this private place
as I exited left a smile on my face.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
No Place Like Home
=========================================================================
There's my easy chair, just sitting there
I've spent a lot of time
Thinking of this perfect love
I know is yours and mine
Oh how I love that old picture on the wall
Of you and me and the kids
My most favorite times in life I've spent
Right here where we've lived
Chorus:
There's no place like home
There's no place like home
It just hit me as I was leaving
There's no place like home
From the bedroom I smell perfume
My favorite kind you wore
And it brings back memories of all those nights
Behind our bedroom door
The saddest thing I think I've ever seen
Was my closet all cleaned out
It's sad to think that one must leave
Cause we can't work things out
Chorus
So baby, say that I can stay, for just a day or so
Then maybe I can change your mind and I won't have to go
Just look into these baby blues
And tell me it's okay
I love that smile, it drives me wild
No love won't die today
Chorus
=========================================================================
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ottoman
At the foot of my parents bed was an ottoman,
it was old fashioned, but solid and sound.
My father said it had been locked for a reason,
to stop children from nosing around.
This unusual ottoman kind of haunted me
and I was curious to look inside.
One morning I found a key in the green house
and it looked like the ottoman’s size
Within minutes I was face to face with the ottoman,
the key turned the lock, so I took a peek.
A burning light shone at the bottom of a stairway;
so this was the secret my father wished to keep.
My burning curiosity had got the better of me,
so I lifted the lid wider and got inside.
Down the steps I ventured with caution,
my ears twitching, and eyes open wide.
The steps led down a narrow spiral staircase,
which met a corridor, with a door at the end.
Behind the creaky door was another corridor
and a wooden stairway which I did ascend.
This led me back up to the ottoman,
which was strange, but had to accept.
I decided to mull this over in my bedroom,
but someone was sleeping, so out there I crept.
I couldn’t believe it when I saw myself sleeping,
but then my father called me down for tea.
He and mum smiled, and dad ruffled my hair,
it was then that I came face to face with me.
I ran from the kitchen, up to my parent’s bedroom;
into the ottoman, and returned the way I came.
Everyone was sitting down for tea when I joined them
and dad knew, that I wouldn’t be disobeying him again.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stage Three
no one enters the house using the door.
The doors close without the use of hinges and locks.
The living room is turned upside down.
The traces of my steps are a myriad labyrinths of
puzzles, cross, crescent, moon, sun, stars, and
dead leaves just below the body of a rotting log.
Log on. Say some more. This is freedom.
The railings are roses. The stairs are rivers.
The walls are faces of the one you make love.
The roofs are ideas. Theories live there and metaphors
Abound in the living room.There is an old piano and you
Begin to play: Vienna woods. You dance the waltz with her.
Whispers mossy on the carpets. The toilet is kept empty
And shiny white tiles, glossy to the feel of your fingers.
The bedroom is bare. You too complete the picture.
An hour of sex. Gracious! This house is the most beautiful
House of our neighborhood.
It is not our home yet. Tomorrow we unpack.
The distance is our journey. And it is somewhere else
With someone you still love. It is not I.
I am just a picture: black and white, and dusty.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Messy Room
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or-
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Mother Looked
You want to look how Mother looked.
Makeup she used to use lies on her
Dressing table in the room father has
Had locked up. You have secreted the
Key and unlocked and closing the door,
Are sitting facing your image in the mirror’s
Glass you’ve propped against a chair. You
Do not have your mother’s hair. You have
Her eyes, Father said, although he says it
Less now since her death, as if stealing
From the dead. You want to transform
Yourself into her; be the woman she was;
Have her beauty; have her smile; her gentle
Manner. Cancer took her like thief at night;
Reduced her to a bag of bones and hanging
Skin, pale and thin. Forget that image, Father
Chides, cast it away, lock behind the mind’s
Dark doors. You want to look how Mother
Looked before her sad demise, before cold
Cancer’s deceit and lies. Still a child, Father
Says, you have all your life to live; leave your
Grief behind, but you want to be as Mother
Was, like the coloured picture in your mind.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dreamin'
If I close my eyes I see your face and I'm not without you
If I trying hard and concentrate I can still hear you speak
I picture myself in your room by the chair
you're smoking a cigarette
If I close my eyes I can see your face you're saying, "I missed you"
Dreamin' - I'm always dreamin'
If I close my eyes I can smell your perfume you look and say "Hi baby"
If I close my eyes pictures from China still hang from the wall
I hear the dog bark I turned and say, "what were you saying?"
I pictured you in the red chair inside the pale room
You sat in your chair with a tube in your arm - you were so skinny
You were still making jokes I don't know what drugs they had you on
You said, " I guess this is not the time for long term investments"
You were always laughing but you never laughing at me
They say in the end the pain was so bad that you were screaming
Now you were no saint but you deserved better than that
From the corner I watch them moving things from your apartment
But I can picture you red chair and pale room inside my head
If I close my eyes I see your face and I'm not without you
If I try hard and concentrate I can gear your voice saying,
"Who better than you"
If I close my eyes I can't believe that I'm here without you
Inside your pale room your empty red chair and my head
Dreamin' , I'm always dreamin'
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our House With The Rotary Phone
I sit in a room that no longer exists
On a chair long since splintered and gone
While I pick at a meal I once would devour
in our house with the rotary phone.
I sit in the room that doesn’t exist
Enjoying my choice of ice creams
Recalling the window in Tiffany glass
Forgive an old man his daydreams
A simple “A” frame with three beds and a bath,
obsolete, yes, but our home.
It stood with its’ sisters on Queens borough Hill,
where the L.I.E. jams are well known.
I had known for some time that her best days were gone
A plywood fence circled our home
Title had passed to a contractor’s hands
Neglected, our house looked forlorn
My past like a picture ripped from its frame
They left not a stone on a stone
Not even the numbers on wood painted green
of our house with the rotary phone.
Our house and its twin have been wrecked and removed
And replaced with a modern brick “home”
So pardon my tear as I stand at the bier
Of our house with the rotary phone
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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These Are The Days
Motel sitting in the dark
Empty room like an empty heart
Love will start but they never stay
They don't look back as they drive away
Maybe I
Fix this broken head light
Feeling the cracks and pain arise
And maybe love will stop here tonite
And if she knocks on my door
i'll give her the key
Just one look in her eyes and i know i'll be
Everything that she sees in me
More than i ever thought i could be but
These are the days
When all that i can do is dream
But i don't wanna spend forever
living in the in between
I'm stuck here in a place without love
And i just can't let it stay this way
But for now i'm gonna have to face it
These are the days
Gotta use this lonely time
To change the picture in my frame of mind
Outside the window theres a sunny day
I wanna feel it on my face
You and I
Are out looking for the same thing
And these walls of wondering
Waiting for someone to share this feeling
And if she knocks on my door
i'll give her the key
Just one look in her eyes and i know i'll be
Everything that she sees in me
More than i ever thought i could be but
These are the days
When all that i can do is dream
But i don't wanna spend forever
living in the in between
I'm stuck here in a place without love
And i just can't let it stay this way
But for now i'm gonna have to face it
These are the days
These are the days between your hopes and fears
These are the moments that are still locked here
There still inside even if she will not hear
Like it or not this is what i got
Ohhh God
These are the days
When all that i can do is dream
But i don't wanna spend forever
living in the in between and
I'm stuck here in a place without love
And i just can't let it stay this way (yeah)
But for now i'm gonna have to face it cause
These are the days
These are the days
When all that i can do is dream
But i don't wanna spend forever
living in the in between
I'm stuck here in a place without love
And i just can't let it stay this way
But for now i'm gonna have to face it
These are the days
song performed by by O-Town
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stranger In My Own House
(a capella: she said: boy, your luck is running out...she make me feel like a stranger...in my own house)
I come stumbling in at a quarter to three
To the sound of my own dog growlin at me
Im scared to move or turn on a light
Youve got me creepin around in the dark
Like a thief in the night
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
Ive got no place to live
I never feel at home
I walk into the kitchen to see whats there
Im tired and Im hungry but the cupboards bare
Ive been working all day and all night too
I cant believe this is all I have to come back to
I guess Ill take a look upstairs, in the danger zone
I wonder what Im doing here
When I never feel at home
Im a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Im a stranger in my own house
Ill huff and Ill puff and Ill blow this house down
Cant be a stranger in my own house
I see the do not disturb sign on my bedroom door
What is this sheet and pillow laying on the floor
I wore out my welcome
I hear you loud and clear
Its time to get a few things straight around here
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
Ive got a place to live but I never feel at home
Im just a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Stranger in my own house
Ill huff and Ill puff and Ill blow this house down
Cant be a stranger in my own house
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
With a woman like you Im better off alone
Im a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Im just a stranger in my own house
Oh, honey Im home
Im just a stranger in my own house
Im just a stranger in my own house
You got a lion on your hands girl, not a mouse!
Im just a stranger in my own house
Im just a stranger in my own house
Well, somebodys got to go...
Stranger
Stranger
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Palmed Heart
I knocked on the door of her soul
peered into its window
tried to see her there at the table
where she sits each day;
I listened for her heart beats
tried to divine her secret place
her mystery needs.
But no;
my trek and voyeurism
came to naught;
she kept all her secrets in her pillow keep
and I had at last
to knock her door
and wait for her to turn the lock
peer out
and ask
'Hi, do I know you? '
She did not; but my eyes had fixed her
many times
and she knew them, their gaze.
She looked at me-
looked at my eyes-
beginning to slowly recognize
they had sought her many times.
I hoped they could speak for me
that they could communicate what words could not convey.
But, I could only stand there and allow proximity
to inveigh what I could not, make my silence speak;
place my soul in the palm of my hand
for long seconds
while she looked and looked
a puzzle-stranger at her door.
She finally said.
'Come in, have something to drink; I have made some tea.
I think she recognized me finally
as someone who from afar
had given her their heart
and she was kind enough
not to slam the door
on it
and I.
It was not love
but kindness here
but that dear reader
is what allows True Love in the door
and she did.
And that was the main thing I needed to know about her
and that was what made me love her.
first from afar
and now
up close.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This House Is Empty Now
(costello/bacharach)
These rooms play tricks upon you
Remember when they were always filled with laughter
But now theyre quite deserted
They seem to just echo voices raised in anger
Maybe you will see my face
Reflected there on the pane
In the window up above for long
In broken home
Yet this house is empty now
Theres nothing I can do
To make you want to stay
So tell me how am I supposed to live without you
These walls were lined with pictures
Remember the glass we charged in celebration
But now I fill my life up
With all that I can to deaden this sensation
Do you recognize the face
Fixed in that fine silver frame
Were you really so unhappy there
You never said
So this house is empty now
Theres nothing I can do to make you want to stay
So tell me how am I supposed to live without you
Oh, if I could just become forgetful
When night seems endless
Does the extinguished candle care
About the darkness
Its funny how the memory
Will bring you so close then make you disappear
Meanwhile all our friends must choose
Who they will favour, who they will lose
Hang the garland high, or close the door
Or throw away the key
This house is empty now
Theres no one living here
You have to care about
This house is empty now
Theres nothing I can do
To make you want to stay
So tell me how am I supposed to live without you
This house is empty now
This house is empty now
Theres nothing I can do
This house is empty now
This house is empty now
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dreamin - Escape
If I close my eyes I see your face
And Im not without you
If I try hard and concentrate
I can still hear you speak
I picture myself in your room by the chair
Youre smoking a cigarette
If I close my eyes I can see your face
Youre saying, I missed you
Dreamin, Im always dreamin
If I close my eyes I can smell your perfume
You look and say, hi baby
If I close my eyes pictures from china
Still hang from the wall
I hear the dog bark I turn and say
What were you saying?
I picture you in the red chair
Inside the pale room
Dreamin, Im always dreamin
You sat in your chair with a tube in your arm
You were so skinny
You were still making jokes
I dont know what drugs they had you on
You said, I guess this is not the time
For long term investments
You were always laughing
But you never laughing at me
They say in the end the pain was so bad
That you were screaming
Now you were no saint but you deserved
Better than that
From the corner I watched them removing things
From your apartment
But I can picture you red chair and pale room
Inside my head
If I close my eyes I see your face
And Im not without you
If I try hard and concentrate I can hear your voice saying
Who better than you
If I close my eyes I cant believe that
Im here without you
Inside your pale room your empty red chair
And my head
Dreamin, Im always dreamin
Dreamin, Im always dreamin
Dreamin, Im always dreamin
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coffee
Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee
affords. I once read something about coffee. The thing said that coffee is good for you;
it stimulates all the organs.
I thought at first this was a strange way to put it, and not altogether pleasant, but
as time goes by I have found out that it makes sense in its own limited way. I'll tell you
what I mean.
Yesterday morning I went over to see a girl. I like her. Whatever we had going for us
is gone now. She does not care for me. I blew it and wish I hadn't.
I rang the door bell and waited on the stairs. I could hear her moving around upstairs.
The way she moved I could tell that she was getting up. I had awakened her.
Then she came down the stairs. I could feel her approach in my stomach. Every step she
took stirred my feelings and lead indirectly to her opening the door. She saw me and it
did not please her.
Once upon a time it pleased her very much, last week. I wonder where it went,
pretending to be naive.
"I feel strange now," she said. "I don't want to talk."
"I want a cup of coffee," I said, because it was the last thing in the world
that I wanted. I said it in such a way that it sounded as if I were reading her a telegram
from somebody else, a person who really wanted a cup of coffee, who cared about nothing
else.
"All right," she said.
I followed her up the stairs. It was ridiculous. She had just put some clothes on. They
had not quite adjusted themselves to her body. I could tell you about her ass. We went
into the kitchen.
She took a jar of instant coffee off the shelf and put it on the table. She placed a
cup next to it, and a spoon. I looked at them. She put a pan full of water on the stove
and turned the gas on under it.
All this time she did not say a word. Her clothes adjusted themselves to her body. I
won't. She left the kitchen.
Then she went down the stairs and outside to see if she had any mail. I didn't remember
seeing any. She came back up the stairs and went into another room. She closed the door
after her. I looked at the pan full of water on the stove.
I knew that it would take a year before the water started to boil. It was now October
and there was too much water in the pan. That was the problem. I threw half of the water
into the sink.
The water would boil faster now. It would take only six months. The house was quiet.
I looked out the back porch. There were sacks of garbage there. I stared at the garbage
and tried to figure out what she had been eating lately by studying the containers and
peelings and stuff. I couldn't tell a thing.
It was now March. The water started to boil. I was pleased by this.
I looked at the table. There was the jar of instant coffee, the empty cup and the spoon
all laid out like a funeral service. These are the things that you need to make a cup of
coffee.
When I left the house ten minutes later, the cup of coffee safely inside me like a
grave, I said, "Thank you for the cup of coffee."
"You're welcome," she said. Her voice came from behind a closed door. Her
voice sounded like another telegram. It was really time for me to leave.
I spent the rest of the day not making coffee. It was a comfort. And evening came, I
had dinner in a restaurant and went to a bar. I had some drinks and talked to some people.
We were bar people and said bar things. None of them remembered, and the bar closed. It
was two o'clock in the morning. I had to go outside. It was foggy and cold in San
Francisco. I wondered about the fog and felt very human and exposed.
I decided to go visit another girl. We had not been friends for over a year. Once we
were very close. I wondered what she was thinking about now.
I went to her house. She didn't have a door bell. That was a small victory. One must
keep track of all the small victories. I do, anyway.
She answered the door. She was holding a robe in front of her. She didn't believe that
she was seeing me. "What do you want?" she said, believing now that she was
seeing me. I walked right into the house.
She turned and closed the door in such a way that I could see her profile. She had not
bothered to wrap the robe completely around herself. She was just holding the robe in
front of herself.
I could see an unbroken line of body running from her head to her feet. It looked kind
of strange. Perhaps because it was so late at night.
"What do you want?" she said.
"I want a cup of coffee," I said. What a funny thing to say, to say again for
a cup of coffee was not what I really wanted.
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. She was not pleased to see me.
Let the AMA tell us that time heals. I looked at the unbroken line of her body.
"Why don't you have a cup of coffee with me?" I said. "I feel like
talking to you. We haven't talked for a long time."
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. I stared at the unbroken line of
her body. This was not good.
"It's too late," she said. "I have to get up in the morning. If you want
a cup of coffee, there's instant in the kitchen. I have to go to bed."
The kitchen light was on. I looked down the hall into the kitchen. I didn't feel like
going into the kitchen and having another cup of coffee by myself. I didn't feel like
going to anybody else's house and asking them for a cup of coffee.
I realized that the day had been committed to a very strange pilgrimage, and I had not
planned it that way. At least the jar of instant coffee was not on the table, beside an
empty white cup and a spoon.
They say in the spring a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love. Perhaps if he has
enough time left over, his fancy can even make room for a cup of coffee.
poem by Richard Brautigan from Revenge of the Lawn (1971)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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When The Sun Comes Out
When the sun comes out
And that rain stops beatin on my window pane
When the sun comes out
Therell be bluebirds round my door, singin like they did before
That ol storm broke out
And my man/gal walked off and left me in the rain
Though hes/shes gone I doubt
If hell/shell stay away for good,Id stop livin if he/she should
Love is funny, its not always peaches, cream and honey
Just when everything looked bright and sunny
Suddenly the cyclone came, Ill never be the same
Til that sun comes out
And the rain stops beatin on my window pane
If my heart holds out
Let it rain and let it pour, it may not be long before
Theres a knockin at my door
Then youll know the one I love walked in
When the sun comes out
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Is Haunted
when i go to the haunted house
my love is there
but instead
the door was locked
like the ghost is here
but it's not there
the house has her
but i don't know where she is
i looked as many times as i can
then i saw an ghost girl and
she chased me just like in a horror movie
and there she was my love
but she was trapped.
thy found us and we were trying to hide thy
and we escape from the house and i will say this
that love has always been haunted even in a horrorify
house.
poem by Yoam Rafael Sanfielreyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Empty Picture Frame
An empty picture frame sits upon my desk
Where once upon a time a picture in it did rest
But now the frame stands lifeless and bare
Now it reminds me of a love that once was there.
As in the past the picture brought me happiness and joy
Gave me the reason to live and to write my story
To glance upon and dream of when no one was near
To speak the words of love when them she couldn't hear.
But when she left me I threw her picture away
But I kept that frame to remind me of that day
In remembrance of what she did in and out of my sight
As she was my candle but she blew out that light
So that picture frame I keep it in my plain view
So every time I see it I know what to say and what to do
As once upon a time her picture was in the frame
But now picture is gone but the memories still remain.
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Like Cockatoos
She walked out of her house
And looked around
At all the gardens that looked
Back at her house
(like all the faces
That quiz when you smile...)
And he was standing
At the corner
Where the road turned dark
A part of shiny wet
Like blood the rain fell
Black down on the street
And kissed his feet she fell
Her head an inch away from heaven
And her face pressed tight
And all around the night sang out
Like cockatoos
"there are a thousand things" he said
"i'll never say those things to you again"
And turning on his heel
He left a trace of bubbles
Bleeding in his stead
And in her head
A picture of a boy who left her
Lonely in the rain
(and all around the night sang out like cockatoos)
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Home-Coming
This was our house. To this we came
Lighted by love with torch aflame,
And in this chamber, door locked fast,
I held you to my heart at last.
This was our house. In this we knew
The worst that Time and Fate can do.
You left the room bare, wide the door;
You did not love me any more.
Where once the kind warm curtain hung
The spider's ghostly cloth is flung;
The beetle and the woodlouse creep
Where once I loved your lovely sleep.
Yet so the vanished spell endures,
That this, our house, still, still is yours.
Here, spite of all these years apart,
I still can hold you to my heart!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death of a Therapist
Sitting in a black chair
After a heavy drink
Hanging from a light fitting
Face down on the floor
Who killed the therapist?
Nobody is sure
That night she left the latch off
The back door
There was a twitchy curtain at number 24
A psychotic son aged 21 and on the run
The cops are looking for
Was it in the dish she ate at exactly a quarter past eight
Every night
She had turned an awful shade of green a ghastly sight!
Or was it in the glass of burgundy she liked to drink at nine
Did someone tamper with her chicken kievs?
Did someone spike her wine?
Or did she simply DIE?
YES DIE Lie DEAD as a dodo for hours on the floor?
No flowers, no wild applauses
Just behind the door
The coroner had a twitch when he said 'Natural causes'
But still they're looking for
A man called moses who leaves roses for the poor and outside unsuspecting doors
The curtain twitcher at number24
A chef called mabel who had a problem with drink and spoke to the shrink, face to face, leaving a gift of fine burgundy wine in a bright
yellow case on the side
A son on the run with a gun who hated his mum and thought the shrink had taken her in, to hide her from him
Were they 'Identical twins? '
An old man with a dribble and a grudge with an oversized head
Had wished the shrink dead
For stealing his fudge and leaving him cold in his bed
Or casinova Dan tha 'man' she left him for
Who left her lipstick love notes by the door
Afraid that she would stalk him kept his bunny by his bed
Then fled after finishing her off
Settling the dust of an unsettled score?
The mystery remains unsolved
But much later dead clients were found
One lying in the laundry basket 'upside down'
A body floating in the swimming pool where she had drowned
And a cupboard full of strangers hanging up with coats
Marked 'lost and found! '
The therapist had been a serial killer for sometime
Some put put it down to ingesting Mabel's 'Toxic wine'
Mabel was arrested for her brutal crime
But a shadow of doubt was cast across the jury
Because she always arrived after nine never in time
And the wine on the side was not red
Rumour has it she hit her head
Fell back in the chair
Slid onto the floor
And was found face down
By Mabel who broke down the door
All admitted she took fright and quitted the scene in shock
Without calling the cops
She was acquitting found Not Guilty! for knocking her off
Sent to rehab to dry out threw all her licquor out
But a shadow of doubt still continues to hang over,
Casanova Dan
The dribbling man
The son on the run with a gun, only 21
And now postman called Fred
Who found mrs P dead at number 24
And was seen to be dragging a large parcel away from the door
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Everytime You Walk Out That Door
Oh oh yeah yeah
The table set for dinner only just for once
Serving at your empty chair
Remembering our love the crazy lives we shared
Last time you were sitting there
I can hear your voice still calling out my name
It's now your symptom upon the pillow next to me
I'magining your kisses when I close my eyes
They don't replace you holding me
A house is not a home when I'm alone here
Summer turns to winter when you're gone
And all I see are clouds outside my window
Everytime you walk out the door
And in the morning as I slowly wash my face
Feel you
Sneaking upon me
Go to my reflection staring tells me everything I'm alone
You're not really there
I can hear your voice still calling out my name
It's now your symptom upon the pillow next to me
I'magining your kisses when I close my eyes
They don't replace you holding me
A house is not a home when I'm alone here
Summer turns to winter when you're gone
And all I see are clouds outside my window
Everytime you walk out the door
I'm not saying that I can't just live without you
But I'm fine so much better when you're here
You turn my darkness to light
And you make everything all right by my side
A house is not a home when I'm alone here
Summer turns to winter when you're gone
And all I see are clouds outside my window
Everytime you walk out the door
song performed by by Kelly Rowland from Simply Deep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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