In my house of glass
I am searching
but I know not for what
petals like ashes, falling from the past
drifting down in ghostly white
the halls echoing
with the sound of rain
broken shards of my soul
the dark wounds of love linger long
I hear your whispers calling in the night
an achingly familiar refrain
and melancholy sings softly to me
© Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 