The House 

We used to play here.

There used to be students,
Running,
Playing the piano,
Softly,
With every feelings they can muster.

In every misshapen note,
A scream from your mom
Would halt the world.
And the piano would cease playing,
Along with the cry of a child.

This house has memories.
It still does.

Sometimes,
The piano would sing.
Hurried footsteps of excited children,
Running, playing,
Would echo through the night,
As if they were transmitted from the
Past,
By this piano,
Where they say,
The spirit of your mom lives on.

This house does have memories,
But for a different reason,..

This house has you.

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Read with Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata playing in the background.

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