Poetry In The Attic


 

Dark corner

of a cobwebbed 

attic,


Box filled with pages,
lighthearted, 
traumatic.

 

Words written,
long years
ago.

 

Forgotten notebooks.
-A poet's
portfolio.



Yellowed paper
sits there-

.

.

.

-unread.

 

Constructed thoughts
of an ancestor-

.

.

.

-dead.

 

Wasted ink
from
wayward dreams.

 

Never bound in books,
chapters
or themes.

 

It was her hope
someday,
to see them in print.

 

Now they sit there,
unseen,
in dust and lint.

 

A talent wasted.
Gone by
the wayside.

 

Packed away there,
soon after
she died.

 

Maybe fame.
would have come
her way.

 

But it never
happened,
to her dismay.

 

She never finished
the dream,
that she started.

 

Too many obstacles
sprung up.
Then she, departed.

 

Now it just 
lies there,
cold and enigmatic.

 

What remains
of her life...
Poetry in the attic.

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allets's picture

The Fate Of Poetry

Of all the attics in the world, the closets, shelves, basement storage bins - this one is special. She is there. Found. :D


...a

 

cathycavalcante's picture

Glad you enjoyed the read. :)

Glad you enjoyed the read. :) Thanks.