Heading down to the catacombs
of the house,
the tomb of forty years
of unfinished pieces,
a boulevard of broken dreams,
half-finished art,
empty frames waiting,
longing for their masterpieces.
Past lines unwritten,
words without arrangement
that spilled out as ghosts
with nowhere to go.
Time to dust off my life,
set the spirits free.
Time to resurrect
the girl I buried
long ago.











All that draws us from our center one day disappears, and in the silence of life’s empty hall, our center whispers, “What of me?” 🌼
Powerfully penned, CG. Another excellent write with lots of layers my friend. Amazing read as always. Appreciate you.
Damian
I was drawn by the title. I knew I would love it. Well done, Grace! “)