Atop the warn and creaking boards
of an aging staircase
Beyond the warped door
at the landing above
In that long forgranted space
the cobwebs of times have taken root
Hidden behind boxes of memories
and treasures
Upon a dust laden canvas
awaits a youthful beauty
Kept away from pain and loss
protected
Forgotten in the daily turmoil
of life
The dust settles
clinging
We've all at one time
come from below
To sort through
the years
To find that missing
piece
But in the cluttered attic space
we, ourselves become lost
So decending
we ponder the trip
Never recalling what we had
journeyed to find
The dust and clutter continues
taking hold
And the beauty grows more faint
with the passage of time....
© Rhiannon Raventhorn, All rights reserved.
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