Orchid flowers bloom beneath iron chandeliers,
velvet chairs cupped by a dragon's wing,
golden light stitched with whispers of old.
How wondrous the world, in flea markets,
dusty corners where ghosts hold secrets,
prisms of time contained, waiting.
Each find, a heartbeat from forgotten hearts,
mirrors that reflect more than faces,
frames adorned with gentle tears of age.
I gather stories in peacock hues,
brush off remnants of someone else's,
dreams, echoing madly on my walls.
A carousel of daring treasures spins,
round and round in my riotous spaces,
a home built on threads of imagination.
Flamboyant, yes, but wildly alive,
each object a tale stitched in time,
every corner a sanctuary for whimsy.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: February 3rd, 2025 05:38
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 23
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence
Offline)
Comments3
Beautiful words building wonderful images with great metaphors. Lovely
Beautiful
I really enjoyed this read, full of wonderful imagery and different meanings.
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