An Attic Strewn Poem by Sara Militello

An Attic Strewn

My mind is an attic strewn
a poignant blend of times
sighing as a dying wheeze
angry, sad, boring times
trying to be forgot
‘till a happening tweaks
the moment from bedrock.

You are a time I'll never forget
never lay to rest.
We were the best and the worst
and always at our own behest.
Ours were the shortest of times-
the most infuriating, brutally honest
meeting of minds time
Of days kissed sublime.

But there came a time too soon
surprise, shock, ominous concern
spiraling into fearful when the specter
of violence revealed a compelling scenario.
It was then I forced my heart
to withdraw from such folly
though it yet laments

'Would that love could reason with rage...'

October 4,1989