An Old Home

Afar resides a dilapidated home away
from alarums and excursions of
the city incognizant of his memories, 
of muffled echoes of lingering past.

Home to many in his heydays, he
now lives abandoned by his ungrateful
visitors. His walls inscribed with tales
of joy and sorrow are withering away.

Written in a language abstruse- to some
dead, the flakes of inscriptions befuddle
some and mystify others and are slowly
washed away with sun, wind and rain.

He is but a story waiting to be told and
someone kind enough to lend him
their patient ears before he gives up.