In a house where whispers thread through the air,
A family dwells in the depths of despair,
Their smiles are masks that hide the truth,
Of a bond that's been frayed since the days of youth.
The father, a tempest, his words like hail,
Leaves scars on hearts when all else fails,
His presence, a shadow, cold and grim,
Turns the light of day decidedly dim.
The mother, a mirage, lost in her mind,
Seeking solace in dreams she'll never find,
Her touch, once tender, now seldom felt,
In a deck of emotions poorly dealt.
The children, like reeds, bend to the storm,
Wishing for a hearth that's safe and warm,
Their laughter, a memory, long since past,
In a play where their roles are sadly cast.
The walls, they listen, they see, they know,
The tale of a family caught in woe,
Where secrets are currency, trust is spent,
And love is a concept barely meant.
Yet in this darkness, a flicker, a spark,
A hope that they'll find their way from the dark,
For even in a home where the night has won,
The battle's not over, it's just begun.
May they learn that the heart can always mend,
And reach for a day when the pain will end,
To build from the ruins, a life that's new,
Where love can grow, honest and true.
