I can see the roses,

Engraved atop your door,

Like a photograph,

Etched into my mind.

I can feel the warmth,

Of the love that lived inside,

The light flickering through,

Making the petals sway.

The entrance is weathered now,

It’s colors, bleached by the sun.

And paint chips…

They fall like tears.

A lifetime of memories,

We have made here together,

But it is time to move on.

And I will miss you…

My Home Sweet Home.

---

Welcome to my new series: Windows

First of all, I was inspired to write this poem by Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge: Home & Weep. I tried to write a Haiku, I really did, but I needed more words. I’ll give that another shot in the next day or two!

The window that I photographed is on a door here at our house, and it is the entrance to my dad’s old workroom. That, in itself, is enough to bring up cherished memories. But I was focusing more on how it must feel when you have to sell the home that you grew up in. A home that has been in the family for generations… seeing a new married couple blossom into pregnancy, and then children, grandchildren, and even great grandchildren. I haven’t had to experience this yet, but it is inevitable at some point down the road and I’m sure it will be an emotional time for many of us. I was trying to imagine what will go through our minds when the times comes.

Anyway, I gave the photograph a “sketch” effect to help improve the look of it (the door really is old and weathered) and I’m much happier with it this way. It looks more like a memory than an actual snapshot. I like that.

That’s about all for now. Thanks for reading or stopping by!

---

Home is not a place, it’s a feeling.

---