Poem: House Without a Heartbeat

In the stillness of its frame,
A house stands empty, cold, and tame.
Its windows, eyes that never see,
A door that whispers, silently.

The walls once spoke of love and light,
Now echo only endless night.
A hearth that once would crack and glow,
Now, shrouded in a quiet snow.

No laughter drifts through vacant halls,
No footsteps chase the evening’s calls.
The rooms are hollow, dusted gray,
Where shadows linger, lost in sway.

The roof may shelter sky and breeze,
Yet none beneath its rafters freeze.
No pulse, no breath, no soul remains,
Just echoes softly of long-lost chains.

The house stands still, devoid of sound,
A hollow shell where hearts unbound.
Its walls, once filled with warmth and cheer,
Now sigh as time stands still, unclear.

A home without a heartbeat’s grace,
A ghost that haunts its empty space.
Though it may stand through storm and sky,
It’s just a house, no more, no why.

Thank-you for reading.

Much Love and Light,

Brenda Marie