Literature
Cobwebs
Handfuls of cobwebs,
at the back of my mind,
ascending abandoned attics,
only closed eyes can find,
former friends become strangers,
from my childhood bliss,
where everything I had cherished,
became what I miss,
and finely silken threads,
so discreetly unwind,
as memories slip,
out the backdoor of my mind,
my history is dusty,
vague shrouded with fog,
like rereading chapter one,
from the epilogue,
pale wood slanted ceilings,
drafts drift on through,
to touch ancient keepsakes,
I know I once knew,
and the person I used to be,
well he is up here as well,
so with a smile for yesterday,
I bid it farewell.
