The Attic

The Attic
-Henry

Up the stairs,
I climb.
and down,
the rope I pull.
Up the stairs once more,
The attic, dared I go?

The ancient smell of history
wafts gently through;
a sense of nostalgia
and sorrow
drifts across the barren room.

I settle on the
rigid rocking chair
and a deep breath, I take;
It's been many years
It's been 40 years

Ever since you left

The war that tore our hearts apart
and cast them into flames
the pain,
the loss,
I suffered.
Never again.

A photo sits upon its place.
what's left of it,
Just sepia;
It is too hard to see.
I squint,
to no success.

I light a candle,
and shadows
dance against the walls
like men of savage past

I gaze once more upon the photo
You're here with me at last.