By staccatohearts
Ode to the Past
Ode to the Past
A memory is a powerful thing.
Oh how I wish I could understand them!
Understand the power they can have;
Power over me,
Power over you.
Memories from the past,
Locked away inside inanimate objects.
I live in an old enchanted house,
Wearing a once elegant and flowing dress.
All alone;
Inside, its rooms felt quite mellow.
And yet surrounded by multitudes of conversations.
Conversations I once had with many.
The memories of them are so loud,
They are almost deafening!
Portraits of happier times,
Stand as a contradiction.
Years have past since those festive days.
Oh! How I remember them.
I can almost smell and taste the divine culinary works of art that had lined the tables.
Remnants of those exquisite gatherings,
Now lay scattered on the solid oak floor.
The walls are faded yellow,
The hallways are dark and bleak.
The once sparkling mirrors;
Stand murky and cracked.
The curtains have been forever closed,
The old grand piano now dull and blacked.
Cold air moves throughout the rooms,
But the dust is never disturbed.
Sunlight never graces the house.
The chandeliers never shine.
Never to meet the outside world;
Nor the outside world meet me
For I am a ghost;
Trapped between worlds.
In the present and yet locked in the past.
Memories good and memories bad.
They make us who we are.
They made me who I am.
A memory is a powerful thing.
A multitude of them,
Can change the world.
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