Would like some critics

0 This is a short story I made for a small fantasy site, I was wondering if there are errors in it. If someone would be kind enough to read it and point out possible mistakes (or just "not so good" phrases) I would appreciate it. 02br
02br
02br
00There is no way to explain the convulsion that is involved in returning to a place you once called home. Even if such “home” is long gone along with it’s ghosts. In truth, it amazes me how physical spaces can be such key to the one I once was. And even if one believes to understand and “feel” such emotions through my words, they are not mine anymore, thus, I am alone in such places. Alone in this momentaneous flashback. 02br
02br
00The house stood as a bastion of my beginnings. Old and decrepit, it bore the wounds that split the ages. My ages. 02br
00Remembrance. The wind turns gelid against my body, a shiver that licks the skin in a wave of sadness, and slips slowly through the back spine. It was sunny once, many times it was sunny. Little has changed here, I can still hear the mourning trees, the bird loud flight. But the sounds are not the same, they echo through my head now, revealing the infinite space that stretches between us. Hot summer breath, the smell of burnt wood and game roasted meat. A vigorous hand, old and callous, in quick flights encompassing his small world. Within dirt and sweat, he shows me the carrots, tender rusty voice, in well paced steps: “da rabbits got a few, little m´lady”. The old trees remain, older than me, swinging trapeziums of a lonesome circus. Dry and fallen, strong ancient arms of children playground, cracks under my feet. Sister and me, lovely destroyers of dresses, raiders of tail: his tail: four legged brown and wet sniffing nose. 02br
02br
00“The butterfly stumbles, the wind slaps and she, 02br
00Goes down-up-and-wee! 02br
00She laughs, petal wings, of flaps reds and greens, 02br
00She laughs cause she is free!” 02br
02br
00Out of the closet: hands, face and eyes, whispers and shivers, the hide, seek and hide. Laughs, crystal watery voice. It’s been such a long time… 02br
02br
00Old dot in horizon, dark dot of home, forgotten and broken with its walls. Rain, wet embrace in memories past, and grabbed and pulled into my conscience hands: the Murvs. Somber face, eyes that promise lust and chase, wicked weasel hate. And a boy, frog skin in green-glade and scratches, smell and body ungraceful, half *** of a half *** son, thrown and picked to suffer and serve. Mistakes, mistakes, dumb as innocent, as rabbits. Violence unseen, I know, I remember. The man bangs his head against a wall, tree and hand. Cruelty of men. Eyes without sparkle, mingle to red-hate of fate. The half orc beast whose beast was men within…. Then it bursts like a volcano, with thick mushy lava, fiery and angry, enlacing a man’s neck and squeezing the breath of life out of him. Then he was hanged, calm balancing branch, as the fly breathless in the web’s lonely string. The rain doesn’t stop, filling my boots aswell as my eyes. What is innocence? Was it really life that once flooded this empty space without judgement of fear? 02br
02br
00Can you ever say goodbye? It is our feet that make the road. My eyes close now. 02br
02br
00“Sketches of a thick brushing sound 02br
00So long has it flamed inside of me. 02br
00And when I leave, my love, with the morning 02br
00Will you understand what it all meant to us? 02br
00When my blood freezes inside my arms, 02br
00And your eyes hang low in the closing sun…” 0-