A haunting

This place once was beautiful,and it was my home.now you see what time has wrougth as it always does.I remember playing on the beach there

and this garden,now gone to ruin was my veary own jungle.and the statues that are now little more than dust and broken chipped images,

I imagined that they spoke to me.The House sits on a small hill overlooking the sea,its former elegance now a shade of times past.

One can imagine ladys in long flowing dresses with parasols,and men in tweed suits sipping whiskey neat.imagine also a small boy in knee pants

and a vest,running among the statues in the garden.But now for one who doesnt care to see the past,all that remains are the rotting bones of a once grand house the overgrown tangle that was a garden ,dispite myself I remember. and I wander this place,stopping here,standing motinless for hours on end watching the sea.I see no people not even the troublemaking kids come out here. so I am alone with my memorys.I can see my mother and father sitting in a swing,right over there,smiling. but mostlyI see myself,a little boy,always running,always happy. what better place to grow up could there be?

I can see my whole life.spent right here in this house. the place that always brought me joy now only an aching sadness.I haunt and I haunt

I can never seem to find heaven or hell,only here and memories.



                                                                                                          the end