This empty house

Is full of you

And all you worked for

All you were.

This safe

and gentle space you made

to see your wife, your son

through life,

each hard

or easy year.

This empty house

Is quiet now

But full of all your tales

Of what you did,

the boy who built his kingdom

From a penny jar.

Your talk of

How you missed your brothers

And your dad;

Your happy playground home,

Streets stolen from you

By a war.

This empty house

Will move to others now,

Dependent on their kindness

To the memories

Stored in these walls

Of a past they’ll never see.

This empty house

Is me.