All things that gather dust,
In a room were all huddled up.
With swirling spirals like pixie dust,
In,the sunshine quietly snuck.
Some reflected and some absorbed,
All around the sunlight flocked.
Small figurines and some rusted folk,
Some crystals, some mirrors, some furs, some coats.
A desk, a chair made of oak wood,
Squeaky in the corner stood.
Moving with even a gentle breeze,
A dark layer covering the seats.
Seats for the king and seats for the clerk.
And seats for everything above.
Made of wood and string alike,
Drew the attention of an onlooker's eyes.
A pen not used in years and a diary too,
Containing secrets no one knew.
The curtains flapped giving a view,
Mountains, valleys, rivers, and dew.
All things had gathered dust,
The reading glasses, books and much.
Everything changed over time,
The ballerinas, the horses, the soldiers, the chimes.
Only sparkling surface seen,
Was the eyes full of tears wee.
And the trust that slowly was seeping through me,
And the doors that were opening for me.
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Hi I'm back :) A big warm hug to all my readers.
So this poem is basically about all those memories and ideas that have been stored away somewhere in the closets of our minds and hearts. Those memories and those ideas can be seen as objects I mentioned in the poem. You can interpret what every object in the poem means to you. You may interpret the poem as you want. ☺
THE HOUSE IS OPEN TO QUESTIONS NOW!
Hope to write better next time.
Good bye :)
YOU ARE READING
Rose Garden Filled With Thorns
PoetryInsecure in the most secured places. No control over the dynasty of faces. So just buckle up or tie your laces. Words coming your way, be ready to brace it. (Will update as I write)
