The World Turned Poem by Amos Greig

The world turned...
I see chest of drawers, wardrobes, tv, painted models dusty abandoned, bandana's The Ladder plays softly mingles with distant dogs barking and window framed birds chirping.
My world turned...
I see old scripts discarded sketches that never existed a pile of art pads, note books, models, pencils, paints an assortment of artistic implements.
The world turns...
I see an army on parade permanently waiting inspection, I breathe the air incense lingering on the air a hint of sandalwood. I see my prize a trophy of a successful hunt the complete E.E.Doc Smith Skylark series complete with original box.
My world turns...
I see yellow mellow walls sea blue trimmings dust motes dancing like fireflies trapped. Performing silently for some unseen audience. I lose myself in their pattern almost catching the rhythm, time.
The world turned...
I remember ancient battles, read and make believe re-enacted glorious defeats, hollow victories.
This is my world...
This is their dance, their celebration, memorial.
This is my world.