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The Attic (1 Viewer)

FrancisD

Senior Member
The Attic


I found some words in a sack
in the attic of my neglected life,
they were hidden under a pile of old sentences
behind a stack of stale ideas.

I was looking for answers to questions
discovered veiled in a glance,
questions that strike in the night,
questions, not asked, but asking.

Questions that bubble up unbidden
out of unrelated intersections
of minds, bodies and hearts.
Out of love and dependency.

I searched in books and wisdoms.
I took trips outside my mind.
I sat at guru's feet
and suckled at the breasts of lust & love.

I wore suits cut from the cloth of
success and worldly things,
suits made of virtue.
Robes of value in the eyes of others.

Despite all this, the questions persist.
No matter how loud my retorts,
my endless testing,
they just kept on asking, asking.

With no answers to this constant enquiry
I settled for an unsettling truce.
With this splinter in the finger of my soul
I endured a passable charade.

The sham crumbled to reveal a brittle skeleton.
With no cards left to play, I climb
into the attic of my neglected life
to search amongst the cobwebs and dust.

I now have these words, a jumbled mass,
a jigsaw without edges or picture,
a map without compass or reference,
a puzzle to solve, a self to resolve.

I arrange and rearrange, over and over,
looking for meaning, hoping for light.
Still they elude me, they hide and they tease,
still I write, as a prayer for my hearts ease.
 

Annie. Marie

Senior Member
The Attic


I found some words in a sack
in the attic of my neglected life,
they were hidden under a pile of old sentences
behind a stack of stale ideas.

I was looking for answers to questions
discovered veiled in a glance,
questions that strike in the night,
questions, not asked, but asking.

Questions that bubble up unbidden
out of unrelated intersections
of minds, bodies and hearts.
Out of love and dependency.

I searched in books and wisdoms.
I took trips outside my mind.
I sat at guru's feet
and suckled at the breasts of lust & love.

I wore suits cut from the cloth of
success and worldly things,
suits made of virtue.
Robes of value in the eyes of others.

Despite all this, the questions persist.
No matter how loud my retorts,
my endless testing,
they just kept on asking, asking.

With no answers to this constant enquiry
I settled for an unsettling truce.
With this splinter in the finger of my soul
I endured a passable charade.

The sham crumbled to reveal a brittle skeleton.
With no cards left to play, I climb
into the attic of my neglected life
to search amongst the cobwebs and dust.

I now have these words, a jumbled mass,
a jigsaw without edges or picture,
a map without compass or reference,
a puzzle to solve, a self to resolve.

I arrange and rearrange, over and over,
looking for meaning, hoping for light.
Still they elude me, they hide and they tease,
still I write, as a prayer for my hearts ease.


I love this type of writing and I love how you put this image so beautifully into my mind. The fact that this attic represents so many hidden, lost, and/or broken things is a great metaphor of what it may look like if one were to travel inside our own minds.

My only edit would be in stanza 9. You mentioned a puzzle and then a compass at the beginning of the stanza and then at the end of the stanza you mentioned solving the puzzle, but don't mention something that's associated with the compass. I think it would be a nice wrap up of the stanza if you had something like "a puzzle to solve, a self to find".. or something along those lines that would point back to the compass. I do see what you were trying to do with the simple rhyme though.
Thank you so much for sharing. I enjoyed this one a lot.

-Annie
 
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