An Ode to the Lost Soul

Photography/Dania Trejo

Photography/Dania Trejo

Home, a place so distant yet right in front of her eyes.

Locked door, another hidden from a past yet an opportunity to a new life

Burnt hair creates a curtain for her eyes, blinding from the treasure inside the flame

Weaken hands reach for emptiness masked as the key to life, faith in vacancy of a hollow heart

Tombstone left on the empty land of her empty house where her empty bed resides in her empty room sitting next to an empty dresser filled with empty dreams of a life left unfulfilled is home.

Home, the place with doors for hands that locked her out in defiance of what she could do with whatever sat behind those oak bars 

Walls painted red in her memory but not to ode her holy death of holey emptiness that resides in her heart. 

Home, a place so hollow yet so enclosed 

What a home could be, the thought that plagued her mind day and night even when she didn't have a place to occupy day and night

Time places its hands on hers as a welcoming to the time consuming life she now dwells in

Time places her behind locked bars for so long she engraves her dreams in the prison of what she now calls home

Time does not wait for anyone, her mother whispered one summer day to her as she brushed her hair behind her bright red ears sun burnt with laughter and rays from a day that has now made its home in her mind 

Beckoning call of each tick that passes on the clock, time begs for its memory to live on when she couldn't

Home, a heaven in the eyes of its lover

Letting the lies be burned, letting the past fade, letting the locked doors stay locked and let the empty rooms stay empty 

Letting the flooded waters replace the empty space that called home to his heart, he dug his feet into the sands of the heavy burden of rocks that time left behind for him 

Replacing the whispers of the drowning rain, he carved his dreams into the lover he now calls home

Warm rays fill the memories of his mothers hands, softer than silk against his tangled curls

Roars of the ocean sing to the free soul of his, once trapped behind the bars called heaven now free from the living hell

Home, who is to say?