TheParagon

You were built on the rocks
Gazing out to sea
Your foundation solid
But no You and me
Your walls held a bellowing echo
Throughout the daylight hours
At night one could hear, the salted tears
Within the either around the footing and shallows
You are empty and weathered
pealed paint endeavoured
The house remains, not shelter, an object
Just a witness of sorrow.
Its beams remember the weight of names on this land
Spoken once, then swallowed by dusk and tomorrow
The hearth is cold but listening deep.
Ashes arrange themselves into shapes
That only grief can read.
A door sighs open, not to welcome, the new.
There needs to be changes
Whenever it can be arranged
I walk through the threshold
Holding the keys to my new abode
Stretch out my arms
And say, I am now home
With my young German Shepherd dog
We will introduce routine
Music and activities,
And the beginning of new memories
We will stay.
The sea still murmurs
But no longer mourns.
It listens now to laughter,
To paws upon the floorboards,
To the hum of morning tea.
The walls begin to soften,
Not with paint, but with memory.
Each corner learns your name,
And the dogs and the rhythm of your steps.
You light the hearth…not for warmth alone,
But for witness.
Ash becomes ember.
Echo becomes song.
And the house, once hollow,
Becomes a vessel of staying.
Not just shelter…
But sanctuary.