Post-box

In the end of a cloud there's a place.. that looks like home.

It's hidden,

no one can see it but only imagine.. 

You can discover the candles next to the window..

hear the music surrounds you,

feel the warm.

In the end of a cloud there's a place..

with a cloud for a roof and walls with fire.

with a post-box that waits and a tree that grows with you..

with sounds for company..

and love , to keep that warm always there.

A broken clock on the wall

an an inoccent wood into the fire..

it may be your home.

 

The home of a ghost.