The Music Room

We are exiting rooms quickly,
much faster than it took 
for us to fill them with life and
things we loved - thought 
we needed and finally, didn't.

It comes down to walls.  
They stare back at me 
devoid of art or purpose.

Alone in the basement
this morning I heard voices,
laughter, an imagined wall
of sound hits me as I close
the door that only partially
stopped the waves of
amplified guitars, the boom
of bass and drum, the
poetry of my sons' lives.

Overcome, I turn to climb
three flights of stairs 
with a last load of laundry.
I will never be a lucky witness 
to those moments again, 
thankful beyond these few 
inadequate words
that I had such times.