Whispers of Lost Souls …
Those whispers of lost souls have lingered here
for how long they have I don’t really know.
Their soft voices drift through the stagnate air
and I wonder if their spirits will show.
Or will I see faint vapors which will glow
in the darkness of the home once so dear
to those who lived here in the distant past
and want memories to forever last.
I wonder what these lost souls were like back
when they were alive and enjoyed life here,
in this home where once there was no lack
of comfort, beauty, or family moments.
And were their times of sorrow with a lack
of someone to comfort and ease the fear
of loneliness when a loved one was gone,
and it became too hard to then go on.
How many lived here no one today knows
for the house has been abandoned so long.
Decades of emptiness where abide souls
and the whisper of sorrow is so strong.
On cold windy nights an old church bell tolls
in a ghost town nearby where once a throng
of people gathered on a Sunday morn
to mourn the dead or baptize a newborn.
Were there some friends who visited from town,
and did they enjoy tea with the mistress?
She must have been a gracious host in gowns
of rustling silk and her golden tresses.
I can almost see her as she sits down
and to her guests maybe she addresses
the current events or their day to day
lives and struggles to defeat come what may.
I think the mistress was the one who would
have been the one strength of this lovely home,
the embodiment of the faith and good
for all the lost souls who in here still roam.
I hear whispers of lost souls in the halls,
a mist glides silently from room to room,
secrets are embedded into the walls.
I must now leave all this sorrow and gloom.
When I lived in the Pacific Northwest I loved to explore abandoned homes and try to imagine what kind of people once lived there and what their lives were like. I usually felt comfortable in the homes and often found peace when I created in my mind how those who once lived there existed. Sometimes there were items left in the house or even rooms full of furniture which helped me to know how life was there in the past. There were times when as soon as I opened the door I could sense spirits who did not want anyone entering so I immediately left.
For more works by this author see Phyllis Doyle Burns on The Creative Exiles.
and Phyllis Doyle Burns on HubPages