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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required A Father Clock chimes from a wall in the dining room, refreshing the idle couple that waited. It was not as if they were reminded of some pressing appointment or some devoted chores that was delegated. The furniture in the room where they sat idle was ancient and concealed with cryptic scratches stimulating memories of a once lively lifestyle. An arrowhead seat, brown and sagging occupied one corner of the room making an impression on the carpet conceding that it's been there a while. In other parts of the room, the faded blue cut pile carpet flaunted gummy substances and foot tracks that were desperately in need of a broom. Chopin's Nocturne, (seeking their memories of the days of wine and roses), smoothly flowed evenly from the highly varnished Philco console radio and turntable, graced the room. He sat in a high wing chair opposite her steeped in an art and literature magazine. Occasionally his deep brown eyes circle with a gray arc would give into a burning need to close and he would nod off, which was a daily routine. In the highlights of his years, he was a successful entrepreneur, delightful, sophisticated, a celebrated man among his race. That was more than two decades ago, and although he still hungers for those days he knew that he has grown miserably slow and not able to keep up in a modern-day virtual place. She sat in her favorite chair that had conformed to her weight over the years. In her lap was a start of a colorful throw, knitting needles, and shears. Her honey color skin was slightly creased with tiny folds around her lips and neck. The imagery of her once sleek body and beauty she deeply reflects. Her curly snow-white hair rests on her curved shoulders. She wished that she had not lived her entire life crippled to vanity. Yet she would think that the fact is, that on the days and nights when love was a cold memory she was grateful for the memories that realistically were a safety net for her sanity, They both were adrift on a calm sea of tedium. Boredom breeds contempt and the closeness they once shared disappeared unobtrusively and conjointly with the years All was left was the bitterness between them along with the tears. copyright 2016 Looking At The Light At The Bottom of The Lake.
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