Home

The clock ticks away on the wall.
A guitar plays softly somewhere,
looking out over the see of soft light.
I'm back home.
Graves make my path down the hall,
the spirit of myself hangs in the air.
My echoes drift into the night.
I'm going home.
The beat of my piano heart,
one note left in the fireplace.
My face so solemn in this mask.
Lovely hands hold my soul in these empty halls.
I'm back home.