30 April 2012
White washed walls and festered sheets,
An ancient home, the pattern repeats:
I walk the halls, and smell that smell,
A stomach-churning I can't quell.
This place has lost that homely touch,
No longer that house I miss so much.
It holds those memories I can't reach,
It holds a moral I can't teach,
It reminds me of the love I left,
And the family that I wrongly cleft.
My Old Past. • Opuss № I