The Attic

sue skitt

I found some words in a sack
In the attic of my neglected life
They were hidden under a pile of old sentences
Behind a stack of stale ideas.

I was looking for answers to questions
Discovered veiled in a glance
Questions that strike in the night
Questions, not asked, but asking

Questions that bubble up unbidden
Out of unrelated intersections
Of minds, bodies and hearts
Out of love and dependency.

I searched in books and wisdoms
I took trips outside my mind
I sat at guru’s feet
And I suckled at the breasts of lust & love.

I wore suits cut from the cloth of
Success and worldly things
Suits made out of virtue
Robes of value in the eyes of others.

Despite all this, the questions persist
No matter how loud my retorts
My endless testing
They just kept on asking, asking.

With no answers to this constant enquiry
I settled for an unsettling truce
With this splinter in the finger of my soul
I endured a passable charade.

The sham crumbled to reveal a brittle skeleton.
With no cards left to play to avoid, I climb
Into the attic of my neglected life
To search amongst the cobwebs and dust

I now have these words, a jumbled mass
A jigsaw without edges or picture
A map without compass or reference
A puzzle to solve, a self to resolve.

I arrange and rearrange, over and over
Looking for meaning, hoping for light
Still they elude me, they hide and they tease
Still I write, as a prayer for my hearts ease.


Written by Francis de Aguilar©2014
Collage: Sue Skitt


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One Response to The Attic

  1. Great Collage Sue, thanks.

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