Where We Sleep

It's time to grow old
To haunt the halls and yard of this ancient house
To rest these wary bones
And sink through floorboards
Where I'll find myself in the basement
Amongst worn out sneakers and boxes of old records
I'm more likely to wear loafers now
And I don't own a record player anymore

Upstairs, second floor master bedroom
Hangs a poignant portrait of a young girl grown old
Goya-esque and miserable from my indecisions
Those eyes send spears through my insides every time I gaze upon her
Though I will never take her down
Repentance, a stark reminder
For not going with my heart’s fervent pull
So now I kneel on these cold wooden boards
And hang my head in shame