Traveling across the world
and what we find
is an abandoned home,
dust and decay had swallowed it whole.
Piles and piles of ancient books,
stacked row after row in tiny nooks.
Burnt out candles that once burnt bright,
now cannot shine light, at all.
Dirt-filled couches,
chairs full of roaches,
spiderwebs and eggs of insects
scattered every which way.
But the most mysterious object,
I came across happened to be
none other than,
a rusty cage.
An old bird cage,
one I can imagine holding
a beautiful yellow canary.
Softly singing a sorrow tune
while it swings
on it’s solitary seat.
The bird is long gone now,
turned into dust and shadows.
Floating on the ocean breeze
or settled deep into the warm soil.
But it’s mournful tune’
still plays in the floorboards,
in the broken walls,
in the shards of broken window glass,
Reflects off the shattered
remains of the house
buried deep in the trees
of the forest of the broken melody.
