The dawn of the rising moon-
A pale penny, tossed over misty streets,
buildings, bazaars and runes.
And through the skylight it seeps
In. The walls are empty,
and the floors are dusty.
Memories linger- the chatter,
the giggles, and those cups of tea.
It made sense in the past,
The weight of the present
was absent. Light dawned
the instant she walked
on the dusty floor, leaving
behind no footprints. She stared
at the bare walls. Outside the stars,
Against the pitch black skies.
Inside, the dark tears,
on the glowing whites.
A woman walks right through her,
humming. Not noticing her
presence. As if she weren’t there.
She strains to listen,
The walls are bare,
Save a solitary nail,
Hammered in the wall.
Beautiful imagery! Love this poem.
Thanks.
Glad you enjoyed it.
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