A Baker's Dozen of Beautiful Cardinals!

Taken from my back porch.

I didn't write this, but (sigh) I could have...

Ghost In This House

I don't pick up the mail
I don't pick up the phone
I don't answer the door
I'd just as soon be alone
I don't keep this place up
I just keep the lights down
I don't live in these rooms
I just rattle around

I'm just a ghost in this house
I'm just a shadow upon these walls
As quietly as a mouse I haunt these halls
I'm just a whisper of smoke
I'm all that's left of two hearts on fire
That once burned out of control
You took my body and soul
I'm just a ghost in this house

I don't care if it rains
I don't care if it's clear
I don't mind staying in
There's another ghost here
she sits down in your chair
And she shines with your light
And she lays down his head
On your pillow at night

I'm just a ghost in this house
I'm just a shadow upon these walls
I'm living proof of the damage
Heartbreak does
I'm just a whisper of smoke
I'm all that's left of two hearts on fire
That once burned out of control
And took my body and soul
I'm just a ghost in this house
Oh, I'm just a ghost in this house

Songwriters: HUGH PRESTWOOD

© Universal Music Publishing Group

I'm in a sad poetry mood again. Seems the only way I can deal with this and more is to write. It is cathartic, I suppose.

For those of you who know me personally, you know what a tragedy happened to me over seventeen years ago. Due to undescribable circumstance, I lost my youngest daughter, Melissa, and my oldest grandson, Jacob, not to death but to TRUTH. There isn't a day that goes by I don't mourn them, yet I had finally learned to smile again, but then all heck seems to have broken loose in my life, in all areas.  Her birthday is March 9th, the same as was my Mother's. This original poem, written by me, is dedicated to her. Happy Belated Birthday, Baby!

Gift of Time

I've grown old and weary

in your defeaning absence

waiting for your presence.

And,I am disappointed.

At every turn, and every bend

I hear your voice, see your face

Full of beauty, full of grace.

And, I am reminded.

Often I tremble, my hands shake

Recalling fond memories of you

but always old ones, never new

And, I weep.

My heart is heavy, my eyes tear

when I realize dearest daughter

how much I miss your laughter,

And, our lost gift of time.

Copyright 2004
Deborah Taylor