THE CURATOR

I wander around this museum of my heart
A lone curator of my soul
Dusting cobwebs of my emotions, my feelings…
Shuffling around in my moth holed cashmere cardigan!
Silk scarf casually tied around my neck
Like a drunken hangman’s noose…
Gently touching memories of lost love
of those that have paid the ferryman…
 
My candle flickering as the draught, like passing ghosts,
Blows particles of the finest dust into my lungs
The flesh of the dead, yet my breath offers not life…
Slowly walking along the corridors of time
Missing the laughter of those long gone
There is no sadness, only memories
Another staircase-Another room
Just numbness, the heart’s permafrost of innocence lost…
 
I truly love her, this woman in my dreams
Who appears at dusk
Gently stroking my hand, as if to remind me
She is here, she is always here
We continue our nightly walk, anxiety engulfing me
For time is slipping awayA crow cries for it is near dawn
Until tomorrow I sigh
I turn in hope, she has gone!
Disappearing into my heart, where she forever sits
upon the throne of my desire…
 
My flickering flame comforts me
It’s reassuring, offering hope…
Slowly I walk down the winding staircase into the cellar
To lay amongst the empty barrels of mirth
Muttering happy inside, even content
knowing this new day will bring the same
Awaiting the night,to wander once more
With my true Love…………
 
 
photo by MNT

Mark C Bolton November 2021

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s