Layers of dust, covering up old age.
Hidden from the world.
In a corner, with other forgotten trinkets.
Hasn’t been touched in years.
No one came looking,
They didn’t even think about it.
So lonely, so abandoned.
Like a hermit living in solitude,
Nothing but eyes for wandering.
Forever watching people pass,
Creating the slightest breeze of outside air.
Occasional glances gives a sense of momentary comfort.
Ultimate destiny of collecting dead cells,
Day by day.
I took a creative writing poetry class this past semester at school, and figured I might as well share some of the pieces I wrote. This is one of them. They’re nothing special, just more cool stuff for this site.