The lonely house: A poem 

Posted bymontecyrilPosted inUncategorized

The house is in pallour 

without a caller 

Its spaces are blank 

Nobody in its flanks 

Devoid of any laughter 

Silence before and after 

Frigid is its air 

Stony is its ware 

With no flowers in the garden 

Watching the seasons harden 

An empty heart cannot pardon 

that fate brings it no guardian 

How does its soul feel 

that its bells do not peal? 

That life has no answer 

when the heart pines for a dancer  

Published by montecyril

Hi, I am Monte Cyril Rodrigues and live in Melbourne, Australia. I am a retired journalist. I have been diagnosed with schizophrenia. I've had voices and visions all my life. I think it is a spiritual experience, my doctors think otherwise. I am a deeply spiritual person and keep having experiences with otherworldly realms.

One thought on “The lonely house: A poem ”

Leave a comment