The Attic



The door creaks rarely opened 

resisted by uncared for hinges

To expose artifacts awaiting

tomorrow's fond reanimation


Dust floats in stasis caught 

Within a shaft of errant sun

Through a fly specked window

Illuminating this random ruck

Of prior lives which sits in

Neglected wistful suspension


These are best left silent in

Contemplative repose

Anticipating metamorphic change

As the door is slowly closed

Poetry by josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 25 times
Written on 2021-01-08 at 15:04

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
This reminds me of Toy Story.

Thomas D The PoetBay support member heart!
The second stanza's first four lines appeal to me mightily.