Stale And Cussed Filled Basements

There are those who had been nourished,
Based upon the looks of 'things'.
And not on quality or valued substance!

Familiar faces of those are compared to others.
Leaving deeds done ignored and undiscovered!
And as time goes by...
So comes with it the fading of 'things'!
An aging brings with it,
A change of outlook and accustomed habits!
And those who chose not to relate to 'this'...
Find the substance in their own lives,
Below an expected standard that exists.
Time does not address...
Who is or who is not,
Prepared for it to shift!

And those they thought they knew,
Go unknown to hide in shadows accepted.
And the saddest part of this revelation?
Most of them are related by blood.
In relationships gifted yet dismissed,
With an absence of kinship understood...
Or shared!
Or the caring of anyone aware of it!

No one seems to be at 'home'...
In their minds or anywhere!
And the few discovered that are?
Have never adventured into the attic.
To explore what maybe a treasure up 'there'!
Preferring to sit rusting with visions dusted...
In stale and cussed filled basements!
Expressing agitation.
And waiting to be rescued from darkened corners.
Insisting what they have chosen has not been welcomed!
With an ignorance applied that had once satisfied!
In denial!
Until sunlight comes with someone who knocks,
To crack open an unlocked door...
To expose them to one with wrinkled skin!

by Lawrence S. Pertillar

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