A-loft

(I suppose it's an attic in many places but we always seem to call them lofts here but then it's not about either anyway, haha)

There are no stairs to the loft

no easy access

no mistaken excuse me

stumbling in

There are things stuffed

boxed loose

creased and rusty

broken departs, in the dim

Memories that are touched,

Old forgots not forgotten -

love, pain, that once stored

become one and the same as

the dust mutes their voices,

long fallow thoughts freed,

creeping diligently through

what is no longer need.

Some days I go there

scan them with my torch

rifle through them to check

they’re still safe, I care

But they belong in the dark

too poignant, too stark

as they live their life apart from me

and always     a part of me.

Reviews

[MuSe Ampoule]

Memories should not be forgotten if at all possible...but some should never come back into the light. Beautiful work!

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Every action we have ever done makes up who we are... and no matter how big or small they stil have an impact today. I love that last verse.

[Poeticadia]

When i go rummaging around in 'the loft' i always seem to find the things i'm not looking for; they have a habit of tumbling out into poems when they really do 'belong in the dark'. You have created a wonderful analogy here... with some beautiful lofty sounds; a resonance with everything that's 'not forgotten'.

[OT]

ooo I love this idea - the loft - mind - there is indeed no easy way to get there - if you go in too far you may wish you hadn't when the light starts flickering and old pictures replay - those poignant things belong in the dark indeed!! I also like the aside - like a thought amidst the action - little glimpses - nice!

Well , this is written about one of my favorite places in my own house .. I know this very well ... excellently written .

[An Ordinary Woman]

I love this, Narnie. I love the impression it leaves me with, the reminder of my own things stored in the dark. wonderful writing. A fave now.

[Emily B]

so good to read you today

[James Paulin]

What goes on upstairs remains there until the inner sanctum finds a place to be heard with understanding. A penny for your thoughts.

[Robin]

these lines are the treasured center of this bittersweet delicacy

"Memories that are touched,
Old forgots not forgotten -
love, pain, that once stored
become one and the same as
the dust mutes their voices,
long fallow thoughts freed,
creeping diligently through
what is no longer need.
Some days I go there "

[Alicante lullaby]

the delicacy with which you have described all those emotions which are a part of us,a forgotten one,those moments,the attic takes a melancholic life of its own here.