Cobwebs
Cobwebs
I climb the creaky stairs into the attic
And survey the clutter through a filtered light
That peeks dimly through the grimy window
Settling on the cobwebs that abound
I see a chest that I had long forgotten
I kneel, lift it's lid, and look inside
Maternity clothes stored in anticipation
Of expectations that were never met
I open up a dusty old container
Revealing records that we used to play
Performed by names now a part of history
Songs, much like their makers, cast aside
Albums stacked on albums sit together
Black and white memories stored inside
Pictures wrapped in books of cracking leather
Attesting to the world of yesterday
On a nail a uniform is hanging
The glint of tarnished brass on the lapels
A tribute to a time our country beckoned
And our youth went off to join another war
I look around and view all of my treasures
Of little value but perhaps to me
All the stories to be recollected
A storehouse of the world of used to be
Slowly I retreat back down the stairway
And savor the nostalgia of the past
But a piece of me remains up in the attic
Where time is frozen and captured years still dwell
Copyright © Bob Quigley | Year Posted 2011
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