The Attic 

There’s something here that you keep telling me to find 

Not with words but imagery 

Apparently I’ll know it when I see it 

The walls so old and dusty that I  barely see paper on the walls 

Smell of old books rising from boxes long neglected 

All here dumped, forgotten, dusty and old  

Scrub at the walls to reveal a rich ruby pattern on once cream 

Was this a haven for someone? 

It feels like it could become one if the boxes are moved 

Just stacked elsewhere here not taken away 

I see the space is huge,  beams above my head 

A threadbare carpet covering the floor and a shaft of light 

From where? Following the line find a tiny window painted in dark colour 

The rejected here was also protected I muse 

Beauty hidden in old boxes, a dirty wooden trunk 

Carved symbols and initials are waiting to be unveiled 

Will I ever leave this room? 

I have needed to return to a place I can’t recall seeing 

But it’s like a hazy memory 

I can only leave when it’s all tidily boxed away 

Rearranged like the protective armour that stops 

The past from invading the future 
Ailsa 

©AilsaCawleyPoetry2017

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Author: ailsacawley

I have written since I can remember. First inspired by the wonderful stories of Roald Dahl, the Brothers Grimm etc. I adore myths and magic of all sorts, though I read so many genres it's impossible to classify it all!! Some of my poetry is truth with a healthy (or unhealthy depending on your view!),dose of magic and fiction and others are pure fiction. I'll leave you to decide for yourself which those are! Please stop by and enjoy and glad to make your acquaintance. Feel free to leave a comment 🙂

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