Dusty
Boxes
And worn out
Trunks.

Rusty
Locks
With missing
Keys.

Broken
Furniture
We used to
Love.

And so many
Clocks.

Those gears
Stopped
Long ago.
Somehow time
Kept turning.

Nothing was
Lost.
We kept it
All.

Put it
In the
Attic.
Let it
Gather
Dust.

Think of it on
Stormy
Nights
When the
Wood
Creaks
Above our heads.

In the morning
When the sun
Comes out
And the grass
Smells
Faintly
Of rain
We tell ourselves
We will go
Clear
It out.

But life moves
Quickly
With the
Spinning
Sun
And soon
Night
Returns.
We are

Too weak
To get the ladder.
Too weary
To climb the steps.
Too fearful
To find
The keys
And go into
The dark.