.:The Attic:.
.2002.
In the darkness of the highest tower
Shadows walk the walls and stir the dusted cobwebs
No beating of a heart breaks the stillness
No fanciful thought lights the darkness
And no spoken word throws off the cold
There are no footprints on the wooden floors
For this is the attic
The graveyard for discarded dreams
And childhood heroes
Rows of tattered books with the songs of legends
Forgotten and unwanted.
Porcelain dolls with painted faces
Now broken and abandoned
The leather leash of a child’s playmate
Now worn and left behind
Or the red dulled metallic racecar
That lost that third wheel so long ago
A treasure trove of the past
A vast ocean of ancient laughter and tears
But it is covered in the dust of years
Long years
Long days and nights
Of cold and frozen solitude
Where broken panes of glass
Let in the chilling winter to unsettle the dust
Only to replace it
Thicker
As another day turns into years
No longer lonely solitude
There is only the grit of time
And the quietness of the graveyard
The graveyard for all my discarded
And unfulfilled but never forgotten dreams