Recollection

I stand in the doorway of another empty hall,
full of boxes and simple nothings.
They're all taped shut, stacked neatly in comparison
to the dust floating about the air.

It smells of age and the incessant wear
of the overbearing war against the army of time,
but as the erosion of concrete can deceive the sight,
in it's place are golden bricks of abstract. (thought)

How familiar the eyes do become
to the signs of a physical reality!

I need not hands to remove the bondage
wrapping the treasure chest of nostalgia.
The lock only a figment, a baseless fear,
with the only key being retribution.

But, what soul doesn't want spoils,
regardless of the lengths?
What gauntlet can soften the calloused heart
of a conscience hardened; set in stone?

I must grab hold of these fleeting memories
before they are swallowed alive!
How will I know where I am
if I know not from where I came?

Better I leave my nest undisturbed for the time being...
but then again, isn't that always the excuse?

How familiar the feet do become
to the path trodden a thousand times!

At what point do the times even change?
How are we to notice?
To what extent are the times even relevant
to the judgement of our being?

Why must this gold lie here with a dearth of value?
It is a plauge of the soul that no money,
yet, no material possesion may ever
be barter for the cure!

The weight of the world is cumbersome,
and I know not my own touch...
How could I not sense my own infidelity?
What was lacking in me?

My meaning is uncertain, my trials to date are futile,
but why must I lose the volumes of memory?

How familiar the soul does become
to the brevity of our own existence!

And with a heavy heart and weighted hand, the door was silently shut.