A House Too Perfect

My house stands in beauty,
its corners perfectly clean,
Walls bathed in hues serene,
its floors a polished sheen.
The air carries a fragrance—
fresh linen, pure and refined,
Light softly filters through windows, in tranquil, silent design.
It's horribly, heart-wrenchingly clean.

These halls, once echoing topsy-turvy
sprinkled with laughter, horseplay,
Now resonate with stillness
in a tearful, unsettling way.
A modern, pristine order,
once my elusive dream,
Stands silent like an empty shrine,
a hollow, reverberant theme.
It's eerily, poignantly clean.

In the home where chaos danced,
now reigns an uncanny calm,
The rooms so perfect and oh so clean,
silence no soothing balm.
And in its hush spills an aching void,
a space unfilled and faded,
A beautiful, spotless home with its memories dimmed, degraded.
Oh, how I much miss my boys,
once here, now rarely seen.