Fingertips,
Gently brush,
Walls,
In dying light,
Cracks,
Like grimaces,
Leer at him,
The fatuous smiles,
Contemptuous stares,
Of old.
Wallpaper,
Peeling,
Slavering tongues,
Waving.
Tendrils of yellowed design,
Fading emblems,
From a forgotten age,
Remnants of yore,
Once beloved.
Dust,
Swirling and twirling,
Soft light,
Thin beams,
Carry the motes,
In their dance.
Underfoot,
Creaking, groaning,
A thousand footsteps,
Ingrained,
In wooden memory,
Of work and play.
Door,
Browned with age,
Custodian of dreams,
Both here and there,
How many hands,
Handle polished,
Coloured by those,
Who have been,
And gone.
Fingertips,
The lightest brush as he passes,
One last caress,
A lovers tender touch.
Then he passes,
Door closes,
Light,
Slowly diminishing,
Leaving ghosts,
To their own,
Once more.
Another name,
Another face,
Passing by,
Through history,
Once future,
Once present,
Now past,
Into memory.
