File #998: "Mosaic_Spring2008_18.jpg"
Description
Awareness
Tammy Merritt
No electricity in the house
Only me in my skin and my candle
Eyes fixated on my maker on His cross
Hanging above the mantle
The phone lines are down; it's so quiet in here
Except rain pelting against the pane
I'm OK my myself, but then I hear my own voice
Talking to the man in the frame
A silent smile crosses my lips
After all I'm not really alone
As I begin to savor the peacefulness
I'm brought back by the ringing of the phone.
The Old House
Amber Harris
Look at the old house standing there in my view. Sore to my eyes, the old rusted tin roof falling in. Paint peeling around the windows, the once white House now charcoal gray. The noises of the house creaking from the wear and tear from the years gone by. It smells of dust, old rotting furniture, and such. Standing in the kitchen, I can almost taste the meals cooked for me as a child. Now, the house that was a sore to my eyes is not longer. I miss The Old House.
Tammy Merritt
No electricity in the house
Only me in my skin and my candle
Eyes fixated on my maker on His cross
Hanging above the mantle
The phone lines are down; it's so quiet in here
Except rain pelting against the pane
I'm OK my myself, but then I hear my own voice
Talking to the man in the frame
A silent smile crosses my lips
After all I'm not really alone
As I begin to savor the peacefulness
I'm brought back by the ringing of the phone.
The Old House
Amber Harris
Look at the old house standing there in my view. Sore to my eyes, the old rusted tin roof falling in. Paint peeling around the windows, the once white House now charcoal gray. The noises of the house creaking from the wear and tear from the years gone by. It smells of dust, old rotting furniture, and such. Standing in the kitchen, I can almost taste the meals cooked for me as a child. Now, the house that was a sore to my eyes is not longer. I miss The Old House.