The Lost Boy

That house, that house, 
I remember it so well, 
A newly constructed castle 
Lying in the heart of suburbia. 
It was big, it was clean, 
It held a happy family, 
At least in the beginning. 
It was surrounded by others, similarly looking, 
That all had gardens and trees 
And the greenest lawns we'd ever seen. 
The future was bright for us children 
Who grew up in the shelter of its rooms, 
Playing games and keeping safe from the real world. 
 
That house, that house, 
I ran through it with glee, so long ago. 
It watched over my brother and I, 
My busy mom, and the man 
Who would come to own it for himself. 
I remember that man, my brother's father, 
Who cared for me like I was his own, 
Yet scared me in ways that distanced him. 
So long ago, my family and that house, 
Together we all were, yes, when things were simpler. 
That house could never quite contain the joy 
Overflowing from its walls, 

It only kept the fear inside. 
When it was finally exhausted the walls closed in, 
Squeezing out all the mirth and love 
We'd taken for granted. 
 
That house, that house. 
I went back to visit it the other day. 
I lay in the grass, like I did as a child, 
With the bugs and the tiny polished rocks, 
Near the humble door on the porch painted white, 
Still looking as it had twenty years ago, 
When all was new in our playground of purity. 
I waved at a friendly neighbor, who asked if I knew the man, 
The one who lived here many years ago. 
I nodded without saying a word, knowing in my heart 
He would get the meaning, that I'd known the man, 
The one who raised me, before I got lost in the real world, 
A place the house never quite fit in with either. 
I felt its aura consume me, showing me I wasn't alone, 
That it was lost in the past too, unoccupied and empty, 
Glanced over like the boy who lived here, so long ago.