There is nothing as sad, I’ve ever known
As living in a house that’s no longer a home
To go through weeks with the daily pleasantrys
In states of low-keyed fear and pretentious affinities
To move through tension that can be cut with a knife
Unable to release words of truth in daily strife
The hushfullness and stillness of every glance
The unheard music; the restricted dance
The bitterness of the all consumed
The lonliness of the untouched rooms
The hovering of a haunting gloom . . .
The depressed family; low-spirited lovers
Who have lost the capacity to communite with each other
The silent voices that pierce the ears
The yearning eyes dropping unseen tears
The constant state of unspoken fears . . .
Through the days, through the weeks, that turn to years
The laughter that long ago turned into unheard cries
Unhappy memories magically turned to good times in disguise
Family secrets lurking from the walls and floors
And closets which will forever have unopened doors
The looking back with a silent sigh . . .
When you ask yourself – a simple, why?
There is nothing as sad, I’ve yet to know
As a house that’s not a home – but merely a show