Days Gone By

You wouldn't believe how hard this poem was to write,I just finished it. I think it'll be a long time before I'll ever be able to write another one like it: My footsteps echo as I walk into barren rooms of days gone by Rooms that I'm seldom able to enter without a long, sad sigh. These rooms share countless stories, now mere wisps in the air Whispered words from dark corners drifting from here to there. "Enjoy them while you can, they grow up so quickly you'll see". How many times I heard those words, so truthful they would be. For now I walk among the empty, echoed rooms of 'used to be' Haunted by children's laughter and their cries for my sympathy. If only I cold hold them in my arms, feel their bodies once again As I'd kiss their cuts and bruises, comforting each and every pain. Little ones who looked to me,believing that it was I who was so wise As they looked to me with all their questions of 'what-ifs' and 'whys'. For a brief time in their lives I was the one with all of the answers And for a time I was the one who yelled, "Don't run with scissors!" Fingerprints on the bathroom walls, bubblegum on the floors Stickers pasted all over the closets and finger paint on the doors. Now I stand, looking out the window, looking at that old, oak tree The one with the tire swing where many a day was spent carefree. Cries of, "My turn!" and laughter were reminding me of days past When fun was as simple as blowing a bubble to see if it would last. Walking along the lonely halls of 'remember this' and 'remember that' I stop at the stairs where many a child had been punished and then sat. Tears streaming down their cheeks, wailing about life's unfairness, I'dagree and then tell them they'd still have to clean up their mess. Walking down the stairs I remember wondering if they'd ever grow And become someone I didn't have to tell, "Because I told you so!" I smile as I walk through the kitchen remembering our family meals. Soon, it was bedtime and staying up later became negotiated deals. Oh, what I wouldn't give to have a little one beg to be in my arms, To hold him tight and to keep him safe from all of this world's harms. A million dollars for a sticky kiss given from that sweet cherub's lips I would beg him to never grow up as I held him tightly within my grips. The house is quiet now and as my hand reaches for the door I look around. I hope that when the time has come someone new will treasure the sound Of children playing in this house. Slowly walking outside and down the trail To where my car is parked I briefly give one last look at the sign, "For Sale'.