Written for the Sunday Whirl weekly ‘wordle.
He had not been here in some time,
Was thousands of miles away and
Did not witness the flash of fire
That destroyed the thatched roof –
Leaving nothing but a hearth,
Where once there had been a home.
Standing by the gate that led to ruins,
Struggling to control his breathing,
Heart beating like the fluttering of moths,
As he forced himself to grope with the
Memories that lay forgotten in those stones.
Resolve bubbling like anger through his tears,
Decisions made without thought,
He would rebuild a home for his ghosts.