The Attic
The door from the attic, with its darkness handle.
Eco's hand clutching his open
Breathing dust and cobwebs, tickle the face.
Of dark place of bricks and mortar
Those stairs incomplete, greyish, without any importance
Climb into the unknown, where the past is set apart, confined.
With the roof barely, resting on wall closets
That my head bends.
Days' ancestors, forgotten by the light
Of the window roof,
where the dust, like magic flying in the wind,
It mixes with reflections of glass.
And those sheets of bed, piled.
They have been sleeping for years, without bodies to keep them warm.
Only dust and spiders dreams
And just around the corner where light barely penetrates.
Boxes sealed with tape, expect to be open.
Ready to flee from their exile
Memories illuminate, that mute room.
Rich, locked to themselves.
Fled forgotten, until now, abandoned.
poem by Luca Menin
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Related quotes
Dust In The Wind
Music : Kerry Livgren
Lyrics: Kerry Livgren
I close my eyes
Only for a moment and the moment's gone
All my dreams
Pass before my eyes, a curiosity
Dust in the wind
All they are is dust in the wind
Same old song
Just a drop of water in an endless sea
All we do
Crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Now, Don't hang on
Nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky
It slips away
And all your money won't another minute buy
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Man
He sits quietly murmuring
Talking only to himself
His eyes sunken and dark
A look of tiredness across his face
His head is slightly bowed
Resting upon his hand
He sits alone in almost darkness
Except for a small table lamp
In the far corner of the room
There is little in the way of light
Old books gather dust
In piles around upon the floor
Those stories he once read
The worlds to which he escaped
Now stacked without order
Like memories becoming forgot
A glass of vintage wine
Held in his thin, bone like fingers
Softens his pallet, soothes his throat
While he sits alone each night
In quiet conversation with himself
Another old man growing grey
Wishing on yesterdays
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Dust In The Wind
I close my eyes
Only for a moment and the moment's gone
All my dreams
Flash before my eyes of curiosity
Dust in the wind
All they are is dust in the wind
Same old song
Just a drop of water in an endless sea
All we do
Crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Now
Don't hang on
Nothing lasts forever but the Earth and Sky
It slips away
And all your money won't another minute buy
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Dust in the wind
Everything is dust in the wind
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Family Room. For Mary.
You put up with it because
as tiresome as it is, and as they can sometimes be,
somewhere there, there's always love.
He may take interest
in something to be repaired
that's mechanical; and
there's cars to wash and clean,
hobby things to sort and tidy.
Some kids are good or disciplined;
but there's never quite the time
in their expanding world
for doing just what you do
for the house..
But in the human heart
there's this locked, dusty room - you haven't dared
to look inside for years - or indeed
since childhood, for some people -
full of junk, of cobwebs,
broken windows, their sashes jammed,
cupboards that won't open, drawers
whose contents stop them opening; even
the birds have stopped their nesting there;
a room of memories that whisper when it's dark
It's the room that's family.
And surprise - the light still works..
A family can sort and dust and wash and clean and tidy it
in less time than they take
to slam the door
yet only you know that it's done, and how it's done.
And you say nothing.
Somewhere, two strangers
smile at one another
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Empty Spaces
In a room long left vacant, he sits at the window looking out, cobwebs adorn the room like Christmas decorations. The window glass dirty from neglect.
In his reverie he hears the joy now past, sounds of fun and laughter. Long gone but not forgotten.
A movement in the corner of his eye, a glimpse of a reflection in the window pane, but he learnt long ago not to focus on them as they would vanish.
Darkness falls and the moon rises over the garden and casts it glow on her face, she has returned to him again this evening to bestow her smile on him, her lips move, no sound, but words perfect, fall upon his ears.
Without him turning she stands beside him, slips her hand in his, just to let him know.
poem by Robert Green
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Purity
In the dark tabernacle,
a shaft of sunlight
illumines the heart
and shines through
a million years of dust.
Clouds and clouds of swirling
dust
spiralling
through the light
which spills in a golden pool
on damp, grey stone and iron rust.
When the light moves
it does not take the dust there to it.
When the dust slides into darkness,
the light does not pursue it.
Why then does the heart invent
heart bruising burdens to shoulder?
(Why does the heart consent
to the illusion of growing older?)
poem by Brian Taylor
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Love for a Hand
Two hands lie still, the hairy and the white,
And soon down ladders of reflected light
The sleepers climb in silence. Gradually
They separate on paths of long ago,
Each winding on his arm the unpleasant clew
That leads, live as a nerve, to memory.
But often when too steep her dream descends,
Perhaps to the grotto where her father bends
To pick her up, the husband wakes as though
He had forgotten something in the house.
Motionless he eyes the room that glows
With the little animals of light that prowl
This way and that. Soft are the beasts of light
But softer still her hand that drifts so white
Upon the whiteness. How like a water-plant
It floats upon the black canal of sleep,
Suspended upward from the distant deep
In pure achievement of its lovely want!
Quietly then he plucks it and it folds
And is again a hand, small as a child's.
He would revive it but it barely stirs
And so he carries it off a little way
And breaks it open gently. Now he can see
The sweetness of the fruit, his hand eats hers.
poem by Karl Shapiro
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Sacred Ground
The slow night air
Eases across my body
Laying so simple upon the lonesome praire
Under the western stars-
It brings the smell
And feel
Of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years;
The ancient dirt, made
Of long gone Bison manure,
The dryness of wind blown dust, made
Sacred by the bones of long forgotten Native Americans-
The depth of the dark
Can only be measured here
By the dim light of those
Distant fire balls, and by
The just out of reach Lightning Bugs
(like a spirit in the sky both are untouchable) .
I lay prone, and very still
Barely breathing
Not a sound dare I make,
For truly I tell you:
This is indeed
Sacred Ground.
Blessed from
Eternity to Eternity.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Sometimes I am amazed of the magic that is done
It all started with something insignificant
Like dust,
Sticking on a window pane, and I want it
Dusted off, it is dirt, it is unwanted,
And I do not even know what to do next
About such
Insignificance and feelings of simply
Trying to get rid of dust immediately,
But then, I begin to think about this
Dust, this me, this dust in me,
Some dusts on my feet, some dusts on
My forehead, and some dusts in my ears,
Some dusts in my eyes so obstructive
Of what I really am, and I know what to do next,
The bulb lighting in my head in a sudden,
I touch the dust,
I feel the dust with my fingers, and I am crazy enough
I taste the dust on my window pane,
And I shiver,
I am shaking to its taste, the taste of nothingness
If was from dust that I really come,
I now remember,
It will be to dust that I shall return,
I am now reminded,
And the dust that I used to see
As dirt, as something so insignificant, is now,
A magical patch, glistening, so filled with meaning,
I am nothing but dust; I am biting the dust,
I am very insignificant, in that window pane, at first.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Untitled 5485
bright light on the darkest night stars light your vision pure morning lights of heaven an angel descent skyward down and skyward up past up and below farther deeper inthe deepest depths of hell lonliness in your mind your heart beats ever more hard an fast a roller coast down and up and down again like waves crashing against a solid rock a southern wind blows sands of time scatter across an empty void big hills come into vision fields of dead grass rotten flowers festering away ashes to dust dust to nothingness stray from your body out of your mind gone from all the planes of existence to a reality so unlike anyother that you would never know darkness fills everything you open your eyes you open your mind dont open your heart you stay strong and true beleiving in what you will always know a forever darkness an empty stomach but a mind full of thought ideas dreams an goals go for gold no no not yet start with bronze build up slow crawl before u climb walk before you run never advance to fast stay simple and let life and your visions come into focus never let them turn to delusions of nothing let your heart beats true open your eyes to a whole wife world see your opportunity come into focus know that when push comes into shove you are ready for whatever darkness in life throws your way and maybe just maybe crossin that dark path across the empty void sumwhere over the great hills light shines on you and your objective is ready there just for you to grasp and in your emptiness gets fulfilled with thoughts of happiness and you start to live your dream
poem by Dorian Suchelle
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Aztec Mask
I wanted a man’s face looking into the jaws and throat of life
With something proud on his face, so proud no smash of the jaws,
No gulp of the throat leaves the face in the end
With anything else than the old proud look:
Even to the finish, dumped in the dust,
Lost among the used-up cinders,
This face, men would say, is a flash,
Is laid on bones taken from the ribs of the earth,
Ready for the hammers of changing, changing years,
Ready for the sleeping, sleeping years of silence.
Ready for the dust and fire and wind.
I wanted this face and I saw it today in an Aztec mask.
A cry out of storm and dark, a red yell and a purple prayer,
A beaten shape of ashes
waiting the sunrise or night,
something or nothing,
proud-mouthed,
proud-eyed gambler.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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The Attic
The attic holds such fascination
I climb the ladder in trepidation,
The attic is a time machine
Most things hidden and unseen,
I lift the hatch and take a peak
The old rocking chair begins to creak
Dust coats the old wooden chest
The lid embossed with a crest,
All the games of yesteryear
In the corner, uncles spear,
Boxes piled with books and photos
Most containing all my heroes,
Snakes and ladders, ludo, lots of games
They belonged to my brother James.
Oh! look my old train set
On the ledge fathers old cornet,
A place where I can come and dream
Oh! just hit my head on the beam,
Underneath the old guitar
Just found my 007 car,
I think I'll go I'm getting mellow
Maybe I'll return tomorrow
I descend the ladder and close the hatch
Just for now I'll watch the match.
poem by Hazel Connelly
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Malade
The sick grapes on the chair by the bed lie prone; at the window
The tassel of the blind swings gently, tapping the pane,
As a little wind comes in.
The room is the hollow rind of a fruit, a gourd
Scooped out and dry, where a spider,
Folded in its legs as in a bed,
Lies on the dust, watching where is nothing to see but twilight and walls.
And if the day outside were mine! What is the day
But a grey cave, with great grey spider-cloths hanging
Low from the roof, and the wet dust falling softly from them
Over the wet dark rocks, the houses, and over
The spiders with white faces, that scuttle on the floor of the cave!
I am choking with creeping, grey confinedness.
But somewhere birds, beside a lake of light, spread wings
Larger than the largest fans, and rise in a stream upwards
And upwards on the sunlight that rains invisible,
So that the birds are like one wafted feather,
Small and ecstatic suspended over a vast spread country.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Up On The Roof
(gerry goffin / carole king)
When this old world starts getting me down
And people are much too much for me face
I climb way up to the top of the stairs
And all my cares just fade right into space
On the roof
Its peaceful as can be
And there the world below
Cant bother me
Keep a-telling you
Right slap, dab in the middle of town
Ive found a paradise thats trouble-free
Yes, I have now
When this world starts getting you down
Theres room enough for two
Up on the roof
Up on the roof
Everything is all right
Up on the roof
Oh, come on baby
Up on the roof
Oh, yeah
Yeah, yeah
Up on the roof
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Set The Table!
i follow the path
of brown bare feet,
listening to the prayers
of the dust on the window.
the house empty of all that breathes,
and ghosts just dont eat much.
while missiles born of hate,
throb, seeking direction.
and religious poverty moans
in the gutters of man's denial.
hands balled in fists
cannot open doors.
and nuclear light
is just a damned lie!
rivers vomit, great trees are cut,
empty plates rattle pointing fingers.
and turtles weep in forgotten ditches
for the time before man became god.
women dressed in ashes in slow procession
mourn the loss of womb and nipple.
and the bruises on the begger's face
testify to degradation.
yet brown bare feet still beckon,
the dust reaches out in condolence...
the door on the house flung open,
and ghosts have set the table!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The House of Secret
Close the door, the window speaks
The glass mirrors, the frame shrieks
Close the window, the wall listens
The picture has eyes, the curtain has shadow
Close the wall, the roof stares
The air chills, the light fogs
Close the roof, the floor swallows
The carpet has void, the stair has trap
Close the floor, the door sneaks
In the house of secret, could you find the escape?
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Few Minutes in the Dark
A few minutes in the dark.
What kind of dark?
No light shining?
Depression?
A reality check?
A few minutes in the dark can change you.
Change you how?
Change your outlook of life?
Change your personality?
Cause you to sin?
A few minutes in the dark is dangerous.
How is it dangerous?
Swallow you up in fear.
Never feel happiness.
No more friends.
No more family.
No more love.
No more life.
No more light.
A few minutes in the dark is scary.
You see the evil in the world with no light.
You lose your light for a few minutes and soul dies.
You lose a person, a loved one, every single second.
You lose sight of them and they're gone forever.
A few minutes in the dark and you cant see anything.
No more things that coused you joy or filled with love.
A few minutes in the dark.
It takes only 30 seconds for a child to be kidnapped.
Then after that, they fall to the darkness.
Soul burned out, and love gone.
Another life fallen to the darkness.
A few minutes in the dark.
When you left the light, there is no turning back.
A few minutes in the dark, and you lose sight.
Lose sight of the light.
See what happens in the dark?
A few minutes in the dark.
Causes death.
A breakup between lovers and one points a gun to their head.
A few minutes in the dark and you die.
The light will be sealed from you along memories.
Memories of light and love.
The two things the dark can never have.
Light and love.
A few minutes in the dark.
And you cant remember your friends.
Did you even have friends?
A few minutes in the dark can change your way of thinking.
Reminding you of death at every corner.
You wander forever not ever finding the light.
A few minutes in the dark will change you forever.
Happiness always has its sadness.
Sadness always has its happiness.
Where there is life, there is death waiting around the corner.
Where there is death, there is life some where waiting.
Death is darkness.
You cant find your light if you cant handle a few minutes in the dark.
And maybe people are still stuck in the dark and we dont notice.
Reach your hand out and show them the light.
Everyone around us may look happy but they dont see the light.
A few minutes in the dark is a very sad place to be in.
Your blinded and confused.
you dont feel love and people all around us will always be in the dark,
waiting for a friend to pull them out.
There will be better days
poem by Natalie Vail
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The Prison Door (Clangs Open)
the prison door clangs open,
the man in me set free.
with nothing left
but the clothes on my back,
and feet that know
the way home...
rain begins to fall
with the coming of night.
i seek shelter beneath a bridge.
staring into the blackness
i see, i think i see...
one solitary star.
a star that tastes like bread,
and meat scorched by the flame.
that feels like warm blankets,
clean sheets, the bare skin of a woman.
a light that pours, invades a room,
and fills the room with living.
water drips down my face,
mixes with tears...
my fists open and close,
my mind the same.
and all the sounds of the night
become the sounds of breathing.
the prison door clangs open,
the body carried on a stretcher.
the lights flashing turn off,
no more need to hurry.
the driver stares blankly,
tires whisper prayers on wet roads!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lonesome Farewell...
lonesome farewell...
wind blown dust,
cardboard boxes in the rain.
the doorknob broken,
the window nailed shut.
empty fields, briars and thorns.
a dead rabbit rotting
on the side of the road.
signs falling down,
tree limbs on the ground.
silence screams, waves of grief!
the smell of want, forgotten lips.
words cling like cobwebs
to the empty walls...
where are you now?
where are you now?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Build a Hut
Build a hut
Build a hut
Build hut from bottom to top
Dig a hole
Dig a hole
Dig for the strongest bones
Make a roof
Make a roof
Make it a leakless room
Raise the wall
Raise the wall
Raise till all the wind fall
Lock the door
Lock the door
Lock and keep the wolves outdoor
Set the window
Set the window
Set to see your neighbor’s widow
Light your hut
Lighten your heart
And enjoy a cup of chocolate
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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