Woe is the word that can best describe a room such as this.
A room left to decay without concern or tribute.
A room full of books left unnoticed and uncared for.
Woe is the day when such a deed becomes common place.
For books need to be revered and touched daily.
They need to be cherished and loved.
Woe describes a world where the written word is secondary.
Secondary to silly movies and TV shows.
Secondary to reality stars.
Woe is the feeling in my heart as I look at this room.
I want to pick up all the papers from the floor.
But what is the use if no one cares?



A house left to decay.
What a sad sight today.
No family in sight.
I gaze at it in fright.

Trees and bushes overgrown.
A darkness sets the sad tone.
Hedges block the sunlight.
Nothing lets in the light.

I can hear the creak of old bones.
The house settles with moans and groans.
It looks at me with mournful eyes.
I will buy it and take the prize.


The house sits empty.

Deserted for years.

Dust its sole visitor.

The grand piano waits for a voice.

Someone to play its keys.

One last song before

it’s too late.

Before its beauty is lost.

Before it joins the dust.

Come play me.