Love's Ivy

An old chair worn by the wind
stands as a sentinel
guarding love's house,
a house that has long fallen into dream-like quiet ruins.
Empty stained glass windows hover in the early morning light
smiling for just a warmth of a moment;
one beautiful moment when laughter once tumbled down summer-lit hallways and echoed across birthdays and holidays by the sea.
It was a dream that fell into summer sleep long ago echoed by the light still smiling somewhere in your eyes perhaps to another.
Tapestries collide with old papered walls;
their patterns withering in the late afternoon heat like long forgotton grapes on abandoned french vines.
Doorways carved into one-time splendour
hold their breath waiting for guests to arrive.
Birds flutter through castle-like archways playing hide-and-seek with wildflowers that now grow mercifully along abandoned pathways.
The wind carries the voices of children long gone
into the summer rain.
The grapes still grow waiting to be harvested by owners who never returned.
A single locket still clings to a windowsill embraced by brambles and ivy.
Inside the locket is a single tear held by love and the sound of the wind;
a timeless sense of home amidst a world that finds no reason in gentle candlelight.