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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem