Airless and unloved, in the dank basement of the mind – L. Igloria ~ A Reparation
They call faintly, and I follow,
door creaking with menace,
light filtering through open stairs
leaving shadows, wood protesting
at every step down, but I go on,
heart pounding, telltale ticking
like a pendulum, dust clouds
floating up into musty air.
Above a shelf of rusty tools,
I grope for the single lightbulb,
string dangling like a spiderweb,
grasp, then pull, bringing light
to boxes stacked on boxes
full of unread scribblings.
Now, like an unwilling visitor
to a remote elderly relative,
I peruse those long-lost thoughts
in my graveyard of great ideas.
This meditation inspired by dVerse is about the random ideas that come when we’re thinking of something else. The lines that look like steps were purely accidental.