My house
I walk around the house
The dust gathers, invading
The creeks in my sole
The walls are endless
Broken spaces
I rush around to find succor
Every room has a tale to tell
Every corner a secret behold
I search the house to find the key.
Where is the home that I seek
A family complete,
I dust the panes, I still cant see.
It weathered through rain and shine
Sheltering four decades of history.
I embrace the beam, it crumbles under me
I wish to return, the spirit and harmony
Borrowed years ago, as I jumped off the window
But there is no one, no one to receive.
poem by Kiran Prasad
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Related quotes
English Project
I heard an explosion today near our house. I was so scared that I got my gun quickly and looked for my uncle. Surprisingly, he was still asleep in his room. After I checked on him, I ran outside the house and there was smoke and dust everywhere. The stench of gunpowder tickled my nose horribly. I looked for dead people but couldn’t see anything or anyone because of the dust. When the dust lifted up, there were bodies and blood everywhere. At the corner of the building a block away from our house, I saw a familiar body lying on the ground. When I came closer, I realised that it was my friend, Ali, and he was... dead! I was so shocked that I ran into our house and did not leave my bed for the rest of the day. The only thing that I knew that time is that I HATE THIS LAND.
poem by Jas Andrada
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The House with Nobody in It
Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.
I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.
I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.
This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,
And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.
It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;
But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside.
If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid
I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.
I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be
And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free.
Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door,
Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.
But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone
For the lack of something within it that it has never known.
But a house that has done what a house should do,
a house that has sheltered life,
That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,
A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up his stumbling feet,
Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.
So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,
For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
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House Without Windows
Pockris/tobias
Im gonna move into
A house without windows
So I wont see you walking by, walking by
With your new love
There in the darkness of
My house without windows
I will never see the stars that shine
Shine on you, and your new love
Id rather wonder through this endless night
Than to face the light of another lonely day
Knowing that you wont be there
There to share, these two arms ever again
Ill take all my broken dreams
And Ill take my broken heart
And from now on you will find me there
Crying there, trying to forget
In my house without windows
In my house without windows
And without love.
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dust In The Wind
Music : Kerry Livgren
Lyrics: Kerry Livgren
I close my eyes
Only for a moment and the moment's gone
All my dreams
Pass before my eyes, a curiosity
Dust in the wind
All they are is dust in the wind
Same old song
Just a drop of water in an endless sea
All we do
Crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Now, Don't hang on
Nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky
It slips away
And all your money won't another minute buy
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Black House On The Corner
I passed by that house everday,
wondering what lurked inside of it,
was their some kind of ancient evil inside,
or a normal family that we never saw,
a house of macarbe,
it was painted black like the devil's sin,
it was surrouned by devilish-looking,
figures that stood outside on the line,
was also surrounded by a black pointed fence,
rumors of the devil himself living there,
the devil in the flesh,
satan living on my street corner,
The black house on the corner,
can't you see it,
you must walk past it everyday to,
dosen't your mind wander,
when you walk by The black house,
don't you to know what lays inside of the house,
maybe a ton of dead bodies under the floor boards,
a madman butcherd up his family,
could that be true,
or are our young minds racing again,
with impure and insane thoughts about,
who or what lives in the black house on the corner,
the black house,
painted with the devil's sin,
We were told to stay away from the black house,
that so many evils lived inside of it,
but us being kids we didn't want to live,
we wanted to see what was inside of the black house on the corner,
But we are to afraid to go forward,
we are to afraid to step through the gate,
and walk up the beaten path to the door bell,
it looks so old and so evil,
The black house on the corner,
we shall never know what evilness,
or what macabre force resides within,
the black house on the corner,
whatever you do,
don't go into the black house on the corner,
stay away from,
the black house on the corner,
it holds so many evils,
the black house on the corner,
poem by Robert Rumery
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dust In The Wind
I close my eyes
Only for a moment and the moment's gone
All my dreams
Flash before my eyes of curiosity
Dust in the wind
All they are is dust in the wind
Same old song
Just a drop of water in an endless sea
All we do
Crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Now
Don't hang on
Nothing lasts forever but the Earth and Sky
It slips away
And all your money won't another minute buy
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Dust in the wind
Everything is dust in the wind
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walk The Dust
I find youre on my back again
Cause your husbands weighing you down
And you say you find it hard to cope
Feel like leaving and not going home
Sister I thought you were stronger than me
But I guess youve lost the way
And I see your confusion oh so clear
Yet you love him more each day
I want you to find a reason
To walk the dust
I want you to find a reason
To walk the dust
Nothing has changed
Youre still the same
Are you willing to walk the dust
I guess that its too soon to tell
But I wish that youd wake up
Cause somehow you still believe in him
And you give him all your love
Seven months already gone
Do you feel youve let yourself down
And all I can do is sit and watch
Watch him change your mind
I want you to find a reason
To walk the dust
I want you to find a reason
To walk the dust
Nothing has changed
Youre still the same
Are you willing to walk the dust
Take my hand theres still time
Take my hand theres still time
My head is filled with words to say
But I only find them slip away
I know its hard to let it go
Take my hand
Take my hand theres still time
Sister take my hand theres still time
I know its hard to let it go
I know its hard to let it go
Take my hand
song performed by by Texas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Home
I have a home,
It is a safe haven,
Lay a house on the beach.
From far distant I stand,
Sweet memory I recall close…
Stillness of time,
Now as dust, they lay.
A homesick heart I bear.
I softening loneliness I make.
As all loneliness You heal,
My home I shall first return.
Within Your embrace…
My Home.
The longing ever stronger.
To just remain at home.
My stains are too many,
My being untrue,
But truth my home knows,
That home is only with You and Me.
My shelter, My home
My house, My heaven,
A comfort resting place,
Call Home.
A place call Home,
When we stay in,
Live our whole life in this homeland,
That’s my home.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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Sometimes I am amazed of the magic that is done
It all started with something insignificant
Like dust,
Sticking on a window pane, and I want it
Dusted off, it is dirt, it is unwanted,
And I do not even know what to do next
About such
Insignificance and feelings of simply
Trying to get rid of dust immediately,
But then, I begin to think about this
Dust, this me, this dust in me,
Some dusts on my feet, some dusts on
My forehead, and some dusts in my ears,
Some dusts in my eyes so obstructive
Of what I really am, and I know what to do next,
The bulb lighting in my head in a sudden,
I touch the dust,
I feel the dust with my fingers, and I am crazy enough
I taste the dust on my window pane,
And I shiver,
I am shaking to its taste, the taste of nothingness
If was from dust that I really come,
I now remember,
It will be to dust that I shall return,
I am now reminded,
And the dust that I used to see
As dirt, as something so insignificant, is now,
A magical patch, glistening, so filled with meaning,
I am nothing but dust; I am biting the dust,
I am very insignificant, in that window pane, at first.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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God’s House
Walking through the doors fill like a sin,
Hundreds of years of faith instilled in these walls.
His house is cheapened by lights that are charged by the dollar,
Take a postcard,
Religion comes at a price.
Flashes from cameras fill out his heaven,
Where people come for mass,
To look for guidance in these dark days.
We’re taking away the faith instilled in these walls.
These are now a places of history,
Not a haven for those with faith.
I feel a presence at ease,
Searching within myself for faith.
We all need a saviour in a time of need.
We walk along the same path,
Our hands are covered in his blood,
We seek an answer for the crimes we’ve committed.
Only to find his house sold for the highest price.
poem by Joseph Tanner
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Shattered windows, Colors of white
Across the street is a new house with a room painted red, with no holes of white.
Next to me, a house purple, with its color pealing off, with holes of black and white
At the end of the street, an old house once yellow, what now remains white.
The sound of a hammer building a house, entering a place with a color unknown.
On the street,
Windows covered with ice
Some shine with light.
Some broken
Some fixed
Some lost, out of sight.
A house, two blocks from here.
Shines with lights of yellow, red, and green everywhere.
A wall keeping the wind from blowing anywhere.
The house next door, at the dawn of the day.
Paints its room black, and peals the color away.
The wall crumbles.
The wind blows across the colors of yellow, red and green
Breaks all the windows.
Turns the yellow to blue, red to black, and green to white.
The house two blocks away.
Adds a line of yellow red and green everyday.
To allow the house of blue, black and white to shine for us some day.
poem by Linda ErikssonBique
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The House That Built Jack
Scorched white by the lowly hung sun,
Crouched underneath the low ceiling sky.
Could burn his fingerprints right off,
Could be his last underground loft.
There's trick draws and the walls are too dry,
The stairs don't go up, the roof doesn't tilt,
In the house that Jack built.
An architect of soil and ash,
He buried and burned what wouldn't build.
The house strong with mortar and bricks,
The home strong, strong as straw and sticks.
Warm if he's willing, weak as he's willed,
The bell can't ring and the flowers won't wilt,
In the house that Jack built.
There's phantoms in the furniture,
In the company of his own ghost.
Trade family for plastic house plants,
Trade your heart if the clock enchants.
Never the neighbour, nobody's host,
Watch your head, mind your step, beware the guilt,
In the house that Jack built.
The labyrinth, he burnt it down,
There's a well but he can't choose a wish.
Etched the blueprints onto his skin,
From his own flaws; thereof; therein.
Unsmash the mirrors, face the blemish,
All work and no play, Jack can't find the hilt,
In the house that Jack built.
The house speaks to Jack and moves him.
Along the floorboards beneath the dust.
He's the shadow the bulbs can't touch.
He's the loft filled with far too much.
His house a temple; In jack we trust.
Home is where the heart, like cement, is spilt,
In the house that Jack built.
Home is where your soul must fill in each crack;
Home is what makes up for what you lack;
Home is what's bringing this flashback;
The house that built Jack.
poem by Ella Veyes
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The Gift
His spirit is His special gift,
He gives to you and me.
When you receive and embrace it,
All His other gifts you'll see.
But you have to seek to find it,
You won't receive if you don't ask.
Then you will then see through spiritual eyes,
Not through your man made mask.
There are people in this world,
You may like or you may not.
Each have their gifts to offer
But God's gifts just can't be bought.
So often we seek man made gifts,
That benefit ourselves.
But once we get what we want,
We store it on our shelves.
And as they sit and gather dust,
We look for our next fix.
We take our eyes off the real prize,
It's one of Satan's greatest tricks.
So when your old, and your life is done,
Do you think that you will say?
I'm happy I made a life of wealth,
And pushed those I loved away.
So listen to this simple truth,
And see what life's about.
It will take a great leap of faith,
But you'll love how it turns out.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Box Of Rain
Look out of any window, any morning, any evening, any day.
Maybe the sun is shining, birds are singing,
No rain is falling from a heavy sky.
What do you want me to do, to do for you to see you through?
For this is all a dream we dreamed one afternoon, long ago.
Walk out of any doorway, feel your way, feel your way like the day before.
Maybe youll find direction,
Around some corner where its been waiting to meet you.
What do you want me to do, to watch for you while you are sleeping?
The please dont be surprised when you find me dreaming too.
Look into any eyes you find by you, you can see clear to another day,
Maybe been seen before, through other eyes on other days while going home.
What do you want me to do, to do for you to see you through?
Its all a dream we dreamed one afternoon, long ago.
Walk into splintered sunlight,
Inch your way through dead dreams to another land.
Maybe youre tired and broken,
Your tongue is twisted with words half spoken and thoughts unclear
What do you want me to do, to do for you to see you through?
A box of rain will ease the pain, and love will see you through.
Just a box of rain, wind and water,
Sun and shower, wind and rain,
In and out the window like a moth before a flame.
And its just a box of rain, I dont know who put it there,
Believe it if you need it, or leave it if you dare.
And its just a box of rain, or a ribbon for your hair;
Such a long long time to be gone, and a short time to be there.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Home
So many people
Do not have a home
Sure they have a house
But not each house is home
They say home
Is where the heart is
Not cushions and a rug
But smiles and a kiss
They look hard for love
The house walls them in
They embrace the streets
Trying to ignore the din
Where can my soul rest
From the nagging pain
Where can I go to escape
From feeling the loss again?
poem by Samuel Nze
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Irish Hill
Bury me at Irish Hill
a shroud of linen on my face
do not embalm my mortal flesh.
or box me in expensive wood
Find me a place beneath a tree
once I am senseless like a stone
return me to my mother's breast
return me to my quondam home
From dust to dust the preacher says
It's right and just what he intones
return me to my rightful place
beneath the rich and fertile loam
And when the sun shall shine again
I will make a flower grow
A flower with a fragrance rare
its petals joined in silent prayer.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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House Of Pain
I live inthe house of pain
And inside of that house of pain is very cold
But to fix it I had to buy a small heater
And now the house of pain is warm
But there are dust and dust mites
And the only way that I can fix it
Is by sweeping all over the house of pain
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Independent Woman....
we are in this house
that from our sweat built
there are only two of us
in this house
which we have not really
called as home,
something's missing
you give me a hint
not the glass window or
the ceiling fan,
i know it but how can i
tell you?
i won't tell, it will hurt you,
we continue living
somehow
just the two of us in this house
we have our own careers
and every morning we rush to go on our different ways
the night is the only place
of our tryst
we manage to spend time for love
we sleep together and share
what we can
there will be a time when this house shall fall
because it is not a home for us all
there will be one morning when you will finally leave
and take away everything from me
and then i will write it on the wall
this house is never a home,
she never wanted a child to bear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Here In My House
Here in my house.
My dreams are filled in the here and now.
Here in my house.
Things seem so estranged.
Life's closer to being changed.
Where I live there is a numbness.
There's an emptiness waiting to be undone.
Here in my house.
I need peace and solitude.
I want the happy interlude.
Where's the happiness?
Why the sappiness?
Here in my house.
I want a lover to feed me.
Come and take me to bed.
Save my room for my heart to be filled.
Here in my house.
Outside, life torments and plays with the wind.
You get caught up in the bum rush.
When love comes, it hurts too much.
You don't want to let go.
Here in my house.
Let's sweep away our cares.
Find a place to get our anger out.
Constructively, with every whimp of passion.
Love rules out your heart.
That what love does.
Here in my house.
You want it too much.
Here in my house.
poem by Raven Brent
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Fortune
Fortune, i have find you
I have find you at last
The finest gold
In the dust
The future
To change the past
A fountain
Higher than the pick
Of the highest mountain
The heart of the wise
Sweet like paradise
Blessing in his eyes
In his house
Do the mighty seek advice
poem by Matt Ancient
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