The Attic poem

Shook down on me
the dust of memories
hiding in sepia tones
and splintered frames.
Drifted in through the
cracked window panes,
rusting at the hinges,
and settled on top of
forgotten stacks of
mildewed cardboard,
packed with miscellany
of days senile and
obsolete.
Coughed secrets I can’t
understand,
whispered ghosts with
no use for me.
A neglected world
once full of life,
its breath faded and
unnoticed.
[The first line is from Dust of Snow by Robert Frost.]
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4 thoughts on “The Attic poem

  1. a beautiful description of encounters with mementos …I particularly enjoyed considering “Coughed secrets I can’t understand, whispered ghosts of no use for me.”

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