Curtains, at Grandma’s house,
hide the inner sanctum -
memories remodeled.
—Quote by Poet
I Recall Curtains
Loveliness is lace; I recall curtains.
Village without curtains; and lace.
One bow on a pine, lopsided star.
Intricate lace is snow white.
Many pines in the mountain skies,
the chimney and post office spire
pointing at the twinkling stars, all
hover over the curtainless village.
Rocking horse and spinning top, highlight
the two-storied “Toys and Games.”
I wonder who lives upstairs at the “Bakery.”
Such a teeny tiny village offering, yet
the daintiness embellishes a Winter wall;
Loveliness is lace; I recall curtains.
Lost Space
The room is bare only a chair
still warm from the woman who sat there
she won`t be coming back.
The room is stuffy needs airing there is
a sofa in the corner with a sleeping bag.
A faint aroma lingers.
Curtainless windows, grey dust on sills
the ceiling is yellow by cigarette smoke,
white squares where family pictures hung
I leave close the door, it creaks
the last fear-ridden dissent the room can
keep its sadness of broken dreams.
MOVING HOUSE
Everyone gone.
Scattered long-lost yellow photos, outdated tickets,
Carpet hollows where furniture stood,
Are the only traces.
End of the world we knew -
Walls scorched with sun-faded outlines of pictures,
Curtainless windows glare - intense heat
From the staring sun
In the empty sky,
Dust beams across moveless clouds of motes.
In remote corners dead spiders with their
Forgotten, mummified flies.
Cockroaches are king, moving over vacant floors,
Silent in the voiceless void.
Slowly ascending the steps towards, once upon a times
Familiar front doors; which seem as although, but yesterday
When her newness held such vibrancy; colours be their laughter
Love, filling these hallways ? Leading into her many different rooms...
Some were hidden it seems; passages perhaps a vacancy sign, now posted
Unto a curtainless window, within my heart ? Spring left melting his last
Winter's remnants this snow, from amid it's blizzard; winds whispering about
Silent trees flowers, bending of such their wake ? A single solitary rose; sitting atop
An empty table; past her tomorrow's glass; aside love's note their beckoning, kiss..
Crowned time's street; leaving his bottle in champagne at that, the threshold ?
Wrapped and this a red bow; while turning to make one's way; beyond her rainbows.
My eyes closed as broken pieces fell to the floor...
Through my fingers they dropped by an open door...
The breeze blew in as I struggled to put them back...
Some fit and others drifted into cracks...
The hands of the clock don't flip back like pages...
They only tick on and fade like curtainless stages...
As the door closes I stare at the pieces left on the ground...
Only to remember how the beat of two hearts made one sound...
The reality of it all....
The clock upon the wall
Broken, the crystal glass, cracked
Dust covered, and no longer
The turning of its hands
But I remember, I remember
When it was new....
First, placed upon that wall
The wall, walls, curtainless windows
Molding, paint upon their sills
Panes, staring in, thinking of when
The sliding glass door, but
No one lives here, anymore
Still, looking back, looking past
Echoing laughter....
Voices, faces, silhouettes, this silence
The clock upon the wall
The wall, walls, thinking
What yesterday can you hold?
What memory? What moment?
Can you touch the air?
Can you feel it within your hands?
Is it tangible? Can it be held?
It all disappears, the past
An illusion, that no longer exist
Nor, shall it ever again!
Shall it, shall it ever appear?
Then why, do so many spend their time
Throwing away, this day?
This moment, that may be their very last
Breath?
Walking within places, wherein nothing, lives
Except, in their eyes, their minds, their
Life, Time, "Today!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The clock upon the wall....