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I Never Thought Myself An Orphan

The moon moves high in a starless void.
Chimes ring hollow,
echo in a barren desert
Where there are no vacancies.
Strange, how an absence
can make a life so insubstantial
and vacuous.

It's filled with necessary items,
utensils, food, and furniture.
Memorabilia hanging on the walls,
setting on every solid object
that the eye can see, and of course
the usual ordinary junk.

It's the memorabilia
that scares me most.
Once symbols of trust
which took me in when I was
young and gullable.
Now, full of lies and deceit
leaving me on the doorstep
Of a house I called my home for years.

I never thought myself an orphan,
but indeed I am.
I have no family here.
These days,
she rarely comes home to eat,
if at all.

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