Pages

Friday, 22 August 2014

In The Attic

Rafters whistle with winter winds,
old chairs rock quiet in the eaves,
grooves flickering in twilight shadows,
contemplating destiny.

Cardboard boxes lined in rows,
childhoods sit securely sealed,
locked in time for future playgrounds,
frozen temporarily.

Images framed in the dust of time,
forever still in captured moments,
forgotten treasure awaiting plunder,
creating immortality.

Cases full of worn out tapes.
films we watched repeatedly,
now unwatched they gather dust,
in silent tranquillity.

Lamps that flickered in the dark,
forever dimmed their light has shone,
no more to brighten up the room,
outdated inefficiency.

A lifetime's memories lie hidden,
stored away for safekeeping,
held in stasis by the past,
dreams in perpetuity.

© Fergus Martin
Aug 2014