Mansion of the Past

On the corner of the street
An old house sits.
Empty and dark,
It looks so lonely.
It's windows are cracked
Like the crystal trail of tears.
Wind blows through the open door
And rustles the ragged drapes.
It's like the poor thing is wheezing,
Holding on to the thin ropes of life.
The walls creak and moan with the weight of the years.
It has sheltered so many families,
Each found a reason to leave.
The boards outside sag like the wrinkles on an old mans face.
I would love to walk through that house,
Sit on the stairs and listen to the groaning sounds.
It would tell me the tales of its life,
And there I would listen,
To the stories of old.