In my house of glass I am searching
but I know not for what
clad in ghostly white, ashes falling from the past
the halls echoing with the sound of rain
broken shards of my soul calling sadly into the night
their whispers surround me, an achingly familiar refrain
the ghosts of sorrows past, blooming like blossoms
my soul aching to rest
© Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 