Rummaging through the musty attic.
A light coating of dust
blanketing relics,
keeping them nice and cozy.

A few warm rays of light
shine through a window
almost completely frosted
with cobwebs.

Piles of yellowed books;
time has forgotten you,
but not your contents.
Photo albums of
long dead family members.
People from so many generations ago
there’s no one left to remember them anymore

A broken grandfather clock
thrown to its side.
I guess it just
ticked more than
it tocked.
Tarnished pendulum
reflecting sweet omens.

The untimely demise of
a creative pursuit.
So much wasted potential,
rotting away
day after day
in this crypt.