life is loud

the eeriness collected, it’s much too quiet

it’s the quietness of absence, loss, fear

it’s silence left by the dead’s last thought

the sound of tears hitting the hardwood floor

generations of laughter locked in plaster

muted anger and passion in corners

echoed sound of mourners sitting shiva

the happy home now a sarcophagus

pretend and play the role of normal

smile despite the pain and horrors

ghosts wait in whispers and shadows

as boxes fill with symbols of what was life

the relics of the mundane, uninteresting

now holding value beyond comprehension

snatching the last memory of laughter

the last dance of the yellow rose


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