Decrepit longings
written by a gentle_rose
Vivacious heartbeats thrum beneath wooden tiles
in a room filled with frowns, cries and golden smiles
Soft, purposeful Engravings of growth on mahogony walls
stand proudly with picture frames along endless halls
Children play as drifting embers from the fireplace crackle
Fading laughter bound by time’s wicked shackle
Soft whispers, furious yells and gentle music flow in harmony
as if creating a cacophonous symphony.
Homemade pumpkin soup permeates the air
As gentle fingers weave through one’s hair
Siblings fight with earnest intent, desperate to claim one’s lair
Dust motes swirl with grace
as if alight in the mid afternoon sun.
Photographs fall as if caught in a ditsy fun
Shadows and light became an illusionary haze
Leaving trespassers enraptured in a daze
Flowers thrive in full glory in crystal vases,
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And newly bought pens rest in their elegant places
But
they were only withering remnants of broken dreams
Disguised as truthful gleams
A figure stands as if caught in a separate space-
Seemingly caught in time’s brutal embrace
as the chandelier morphs into broken bulbs and skeletal limbs
and the rooms lose their former glory as if caught in a whim.
She recalls late afternoon tea,
in a vine-covered kitchen that was not her own
as nature had entwined what was once her golden zone
There are none, who recall her memories of bygone days
Except sleeping souls resting under her grandma’s willow tree
Or the ones riding amidst the gentle sea
She recalls what the doctor says
Immortality is not a gift, but a curse.
She clutches her medicine purse
Wishing the spell would be cast in reverse.
