Here I stand in this buildingOf 1816,Of before the World Wars. The infant age of steam.If these walls could tell usOf times before these,Would the humbling talesBring us to our knees?They don't speak, Although they whisper, it seems, They have something to say.They groan at the beams.If these walls could talk, Would they laugh, would they scream?Would they say we are mad?Would we know what they mean?
We are beautifulWhen we know the real depth of beauty.We are rich When we want what we have and not much else.We are strong When we needn't prey on the innocence of others. We are honest When we face the lies we tell ourselves.We are wise To remember the limits of our wisdom.We are great When we realise how small we really are. We are smart When we overcome that which divides us.We are friends When we care for each other, near or far.We are loving Only when our love knows no boundaries. We are kind When we let our conscience be our guide.We are selfless When we forsake ourselves for others. We are truly ALIVE When BY LIFE we abide.
Could it be that this house is haunted?I'm face to face with shapeless shadow,Though I stand alone.Could it be that there's a presenceInside this house,Besides my own?The garden fades from green to grey,The fading focus of Goodbye.I let out a sigh.I swallow the urge to cry.Out of this house and onto the street...Vacant, empty spaces in the faces I meet.Anywhere on earth, Any time of day,The echoed sound of all I say,Of all I hear and in all I see...Shadows,Phantom faces,Not haunting places. Haunting ME.