Of winter's wise
and whining wars,
I wait for memory to return
home alone and for a welcome song.
Surviving stretched sins
ancient sacrificial sorrows sublime,
I sing of nothing now
lest silence reign again.
Such valiant sons and daughters
roamed within lush pathways forlorn,
I wonder why the years have stretched
my mindfulness to limits long lost.
In weathered pane and well-trekked boards
mysteries lay buried beneath,
I long to linger with you and tell
a tale too terrific and spine-tingling.
But, alas, tonight no one sleeps here
under clapboard roof and post and beam.
Only wanderers return to murmur
sweet nothings in my halls by days.
I sit a relic in a modern age
a long lost moment etched in time.
I long to be reborn anew
and hear sweet nothings again in me.
Perhaps in some future holding space
past decades and centuries long gone,
I too will sit and listen once more
to songs alive, vibrant, young, and renewed.
Honorable mention
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