"Voices carry here, my boy

They drift from open fields

Can get caught under the eaves

Sometimes, they settle in the attic

In the creaking of the joists

In the rot of old wood

And whisper things…

Things long forgotten-

Things best forgotten!

Don't listen t' them, boy

They ain't for hearin'!

Just let them bleed

Let them seep 

Let the grieving 

wail...

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Forgotten in the Attic

Old clothes in the attic

Yesterday’s peacock feathers

Indigo, blue and red

Faded profusion in the darkness

High In the loft that’s above our bed

Long gone twills and corduroy

Neatly folded in their creases

Neatly folded where they lay

All in pretty layers of their day

Brown brogues in the attic

Tinsel and baubles on the tree

Indi...

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