New Poem of Alliteration Exploration and Other Randomness

You come home in the early morning light,

telling the hushed, shadowed rooms of this house that there are birds singing outside its walls. 
Pulling open the curtains is like birthing a new galaxy;
the dust, the memories, 
unspoken thoughts from centuries before 
swirl down from the sculpted tin ceilings in a torrential, shining rain
Interjections from another age walk these hallways
floorboards creak in the utter stillness 
and solitude seems an impossibility 
For no one can sweep out the presence 
of history like they sweep cobwebs 
from corners
History does not fade easily
but lasts, and goes on, happily watching 
as new history is made