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Topic: Relics of an Abandoned Mind
by Amanda J CobbThe ashen firewood sits long cold in the hearth,
blunt, rusted pokers leaning and fallen nearby.
Remains of melted candles stand sentry
on worn and dusty sidetables
covered with smudges of ink
and time.
The bare floor wears nothing but scuff marks,
small recompense for years
without company or carpets.
Strange to think
this room was once alive with use,
warmth in the air and wood,
and shadows of strangers dancing on the walls
to the flickering light.
No one lives here now. 11/13/2004 Author's Note: Topic from Wiley Otis. Found an older short poem of mine, liked the idea, expanded on it, and voila.
Posted on 11/13/2004
Copyright © 2024 Amanda J Cobb
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Max Bouillet on 11/17/04 at 06:38 AM History plays tricks on us... looking back when can see the ghosts of life and trnaspose them on the current bleak scene. At that moment, we see them hollow and empty dancing through the cobwebs. Chilling imagery and a great read. |
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