Poetry
The Tears Of Things Forgotten
Dust motes dancing
Floating
Born on a puff of stale, musty air
Scent of yesterday
Antiquity
Flashlight
Laser-like
Piercing the darkness
Illuminating memories
Another time and place
A mannequin with broken fingers
Eyeless
And yet sentient
Standing watch from corner post
Forgotten
Artificial tree still strung with lights
Tinsel draped
By darkness shrouded
A sad mockery of former joys
Long gone
A steamer trunk with lid agape
Won’t you come
It whispers
See my treasures…
Remember
I’m suddenly swaying
Gasping for air
Falling
Falling
Falling
Cloud of dust stirred by my fall
Canopies my form
And I wonder…
Could this be the tears
Of things forgotten
I leave this attic space
My space
Everything as it was
Memories
Safely locked away
Safely locked
I walk away
geofftalbot
April 2, 2010 at 11:09 am
I love this. It’s minimal and beautiful.
rgryan
April 25, 2010 at 9:17 pm
Thanks, Geoff! I’m not really a poet, but I’m trying to learn the discipline. Appreciate the encouragement.