The window dust and gray (reworked)

Unwashed, the window dust and dirty grey,

Hanging on the view from inside the house,

And there, none but crumbs feed the waiting mouse,

Who’ll, hungry, lonely, likely not long stay;

 

Untold, stories echoes live on the walls,

Covered by dirty brown and faded white,

Where once the room was filled and glowed with light,

And the air filled with chatter and with calls;

 

Unseen, the pictures sit with none to see,

The much loved, gazing, smiling locked in time,

The time trapped clocks unwound forget to chime,

The silent fire, cold like the long dead tree;

 

Unloved, the rugs lay silent in the night,

Under footless steps of lethargic ghosts,

Who search in, for warm comfort from the hosts,

Cold corridors of quietness to light;

 

Untouched, the proud garden flowers grow wild,

The earth not turned nor wet and weed covered,

The flowers not picked for the beloved,

The lonely playground empty of the child.

 

So now the kettle rusted, bare and dry,

Cups sit empty in saucers on their side,

Where silence pours out nothingness all dried,

Like the voice all spent from the saddened sigh.

 

 

COPYRIGHT © 2018 GRANT FENTON – ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

3 thoughts on “The window dust and gray (reworked)

Add yours

  1. Your finale stanza is poetically very touching.
    “So now the kettle rusted, bare and dry,
    And the cups sit empty in saucers on their side
    Where silence pours out nothingness all dried,
    Like the voice all spent from the saddened sigh.”

    Liked by 1 person

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