Aging Hands

Strings of light shine on faces that hang
In the shadows that darken the walls,
And an echo of voices vibrates
In the ominous dank of the halls.

Specks of dust fall on tables and chairs
Long grown cold from the stark solitude.
Apathy sits curled up in the dark;
Head slumps over in a solemn mood.

Aging hands flip through old memories,
Photographs from a time long ago,
Lives and loves from the days that are passed,
All the close friends that I used to know.

And of all, I alone now remain,
Clinging to what I had once before.
And my memories pool in a tear
That falls into the dust on the floor.


© JMariah, 2011