A cottage left languishing
looks diffidently at me with a
welcoming eye.

A carriage abandoned
lends its hesitant hand
to offer me a seat.

Breeze of a lost past
turns the page of a forgotten chapter;
Time sets the clock back
A vanished glory comes
echoing in silence.

a dusty room
filled with sorrow
old interests now hallow

boxes all piled up
silent as an old tomb
the abandoned backroom

once golden shining rings
you can see the grimy buildup
on the items you tried to cover up

in the corner sits a broken violin
for the music that once flew on wings
that old case is full of wood and strings

What a match, oh what a pair,
my broken china doll and I.
Abandoned in dark corners, where no-one ever sees.
Cracks and broken pieces lay scattered on the floor
of a once cherished child and a once treasured toy.
Now you may never see it, but we weep, both her and I
for discarded things have feelings
if not always naked to the eye.
My broken china doll and me
don't understand what we have done.
For objects once dressed up in pretty things
became fragmented, tortured lumps.
It's not always understood,
why we throw away all broken things,
because sometimes they're most beautiful
if we only ever were to look within.
Now we may be broken and discarded,
never to be repaired again
but with a little helping hand, we could learn to grow.
For through our cracks the sunlight could seep,
making us feel whole again.
But my broken china doll and I
maybe too far gone to ever be saved.

I'm sharing a house with her;
She's the moodiest person I know

She drinks her coffee without sugar
in the cold days,
and with sugar in the sunny days.
She calls it way of living;
      I call it lost of interest

She sleeps all day
to drive her demons away
     -I think
      she's creating more-
and if not,
she cries over a crack in the wall

Melancholy should be her second name
      -she annoys every cell in me
        I'm not even trying to explain-
so much sadness in a face
she destroyed the colours of our furniture  
in the very first day

I think of driving her off the house
but then,
  an abandoned house
is the most miserable thing
I can think about

This dark room
The suffocating walls around my body
I look like a work of art
But abandoned –
Left over centuries to be found
By someone as curious as me
Looking into journals
The *****, untidy, old pamphlets
Merely to prove I once breathed
In the same air
Inhaling alienated emotions
Exhaling like an exploited woman
Piercing your heart with her eyes
Oh, those shovelling eyes
Starry, suffice
Arresting you in her entice
Would you dare to touch
This piece of art
Surrendered
Only to lure another

With the sting of thorns,
nestled in ***** feet,
There is a pull of the world toward the
abandoned.
It draws me here, to the space between
tides; to graffiti, and rats.
For there is peace in what we leave behind.

My life is like an iPad, once so full of energy and light.
Once so quick to learn, to play, to grow.

And then –
Broken.
Cracked.
Unfixable.

The light flickers out.
Abandoned.
Forgotten.
Worthless.
Replaced.

Because
Why would anyone see something in it?
Why would anyone try to mend the unmendable?

Right?

An angel,
spreading her wing
to take me under it
to ease the anguish
of my heavy heart

A heavenly creature
fled from a lover’s hell
to purify her stained heart

I never felt loneliness
till my lusted angel
flew back to her realm

Will she ever fly back
and risk losing another feather?