Dusty shadows,
Darkened windows,
Watching cars go by
In the dead of night.
Deadbolt locked
To haunting thoughts,
Staring off to space,
With an expressionless face.
None of what's inside shows,
Even though an inner storm blows.
Just watching the rain
Slide down the window pane.
Dreary, wet, and cold,
Waiting for someone to hold.
Searching for the warm light
That will bring back life.
Apr 23, 2011
Apr 23, 2011 at 11:23 AM UTC
Dusty shadows,
Darkened windows,
Watching cars go by
In the dead of night.
Deadbolt locked
To haunting thoughts,
Staring off to space,
With an expressionless face.
None of what's inside shows,
Even though an inner storm blows.
Just watching the rain
Slide down the window pane.
Dreary, wet, and cold,
Waiting for someone to hold.
Searching for the warm light
That will bring back life.
I'm not sure why I titled it "Attic." It just seemed right for the poem.
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