Memories, In the Silent Dust
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I walked up the dark, creaky attic stairs and opened the door,
this is where I used to play, and even slept so long, long ago.
Everything was covered with dust, parchment gray,
and as I entered air borne dust particles swirled.
The entire attic was faded, pale and muted and had the musty smell,
of dust.
Yet, it all seemed exactly as I had left it, and
although the contents were time-stained under a veil of grime and soot,
it was mine- for grandma had died and nobody wanted any of this stuff.
I knew the treasures that lay beneath the years of filth,
and dust.
The attic enchanted me- just as it had,
when I was a child. Oh the memories in the silent dust!
Over there in the corner is an old chest,
and near the window a rocking chair, a dresser, and a brass bed.
Yes, time-scarred, but beautiful to me, not ruined- just old
and dusty.
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March 21, 2017
Poetry/Prose/Memories, In The Silent Dust
Copyright Protected, ID 17- 886-289-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, June 2018, Premiere
sponsor, Brian Strand
Sixth Place
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Written for the contest, Dust
sponsor, Shadow Hamilton
Fourth Place
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2017
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