King sized bed awash in colors, blankets strewn, empty for now.
Black chair idle, spun from its table in a lonely and quiet direction.

Wood floors dusty, collecting remnants of us as we were, not as we are.
Notes piled high to the left, mostly tangled in lyrics leaking from the heart.

The rattle of new and cool air, entering this space through windows closed.
August, the month hangs mockingly, from a tiny nail on the off-colored wall.

Blinking blue and red lights radiate, from tools that earn and help pass the time.
Ledgers filled with words both remembered and forgot entertain us and grow our minds.

Empty cups that once filled our thirst, now leave us work in the afternoon.
An acoustic guitar in the corner, with no song to sing, stares into the distance.

The familiar clothes we wore in sunlight and under covers rest in a corner sleeping.
Young spirits come and go, carving out space and time against the odds.

The little glazed jar on her nightstand, the one with the broad cork lid simply can not fly.
Speakers cackle, mimicking sounds of game or music from a variety wide as the sea.

Pictures under glass, glorify idols and dreams or days long gone but  held in high regard.
A light high and centered, binds it all together, to be found with ease as needed. ~ C. Chance