Seeing sudden darkness,
Dense forest fades into light,
As it grows brighter,
A brilliant grove appears,
Old wooden gates ahead,
The only reminder of a civilized touch
A thought appears...
The gates are stalwart but crumbling
You may be able to move them
You try pushing,
The ancient wood budges,
Slipping through the open crack,
The gate leads to a door,
Which leads to darkness,
Opening up to a wonder,
Mountains of socks and valleys of trinkets,
All different shapes and sizes,
Argyles and polka dotted cotton,
Abound in soft fluffy piles,
Meanwhile mixed with every day lost wants,
Like car keys and house keys,
Ten cent toys and forgotten umbrellas,
Credit cards,ID cards, any card forsaken,
All intermixed in whole piles of pocket lint.
There is a sign here..
You read it...
The gift shop is closed for retrofitting
reopen date unknown.
Listen...
The sound of the wind wafts you back,
To the open door,
you find yourself in dark again,
You feel you must find a lighter place,
You go...
Back to the grove,
Back through the forest,
And you travel your steps untold,
To life more mundane.
You wake up remembering
only that you forgot.
About the Creator
Ann About
Pretend writer. Poems sometimes.
Friendly but prone to tangents, usually can’t be asked.
Not a writing resume but worth a look.
Subject to change.
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