No matter the bleeding earth,
The scattered vines,
The clinging cowebs on collapsing berths,
It was after all mine.

It mattered not that it was near it's last breath ,
It was eternal to me,
It mattered not that it was on the verge of death,
It was always precious to me.

It mattered though, the phantoms of love that still graced it's walls,
The ghost of laughter that washed away all darkness calls.

A man who loved to play and mend,
A woman who loved to build and cook,
Pattering little feet that giggled on silly books.

Their cherished life was echoed,
Echoed through the nightingale woods,
While a bed that told of midnight trysts and bedtime stories lay cold and bare,
Not unlike the slumbering heart's moods .

The memories on this wall ,
Told of a life that rebelled none,
But renewed tons.

It tells of a sanctuary well cherished,
A paradise fondled ,
No matter the groaning foundation,
Or the dusty station