The Cellar

The storm cellar stands, old door creaks wide,

a haven from thunder, where secrets abide.

Memories swirl like dust in the gloom,

where laughter once echoed, now whispers of doom.

Water pools at the base of the steps, dark,

a soft invitation, a refuge, a mark,

of summers past spent hiding from rain,

while shadows grew long, tracing joy and pain.

Each drop on the roof is a voice from the past,

reminding me softly, how moments don't last,

I peer through the cracks, see the storm's embrace,

a shelter from chaos, yet I'm lost in this place.