Door Hearts

Little listens
At the heart of the door
Misspeaking at the cusp of dawn
The voice drags across lonely floor boards
Dripped with paint of old beginnings
Little does it know of past feet
Passersby by which the old house fell
Only listens
Broken embers bringing hope
While the hall behind lies empty
A front step that should not have been repaired.

 

-A. Ault-

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