House by the Sea

Whistling winds blow
between the cracks in these old walls.
The paint has chipped away.
Corroded by the rain that falls.

The waves of the nearby ocean,
Move to the rhythm of a dying heartbeat.
Slowly with thick melancholy,
Like the walk of those with tired feet.

Clouds rolling up above,
always threatening a sudden storm.
Twirling darkness blocks the sun,
Making the grass look grey and worn.

No one comes to this place.
Not really anymore.
The place with the faded walls,
and old memories washed ashore.