random inaccess
Letters describe a moment
where time stretches—
stairs growing longer
with each season,
yet the house doesn’t change.
Names slip—
spoken and lost,
like coins lost in a torn pocket—
clinking faintly in empty halls.
Mornings are misplaced,
slipped into tired afternoons.
The calendar lies blank,
scraped raw,
its edges powdered with erased plans.
Looking‑glass memory fogs up,
reflections blur and scatter
across the silent rooms.
Rooms hollow
as unbreathed ribs,
their emptiness pressing in.
The speaker moves,
each step testing balance,
each pause a fight to recall a name.
The body grows heavy.
But the space between heartbeats—
this quiet nestles within its cage.
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 15th, 2025 05:18
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 18
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, Bella Shepard, PerditaRose
Offline)
Comments7
In some ways existential a realization of deterioration in body and mind. Time takes its toll. Well done my friend
True my friend, it is somewhat like empty nest syndrome 🕊️🙏
Such mixed feelings with an empty nest. The young fly and return when convenient or they want something. I wonder if Vultures experience empty nest syndrome when the young come back to roost
It can be quite a strange transition as well. Thanks, Soren 🙏🏻🕊️
Arqios, the whole piece breathes like someone moving through exile inside their own mind…your imagery carries a soft grief that lingers long after the read. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Only too glad that came across to you, T🙏🏻🕊️
Good write A.
Cheers O 🙏🏻🕊️
You describe in wonderful detail the toll that the ravages of time gradually take upon the human body and mind. Poignant and perfect!
Thanks dear Bella🙏🏻🕊️
I remember this poem. It is worth repeating. My memory isn't that exact. Is it word for word the same?
Perhaps 🤔 always a possibility there 🙏🏻🕊️
Arqios - I hope my comments did not offend you. If I am wrong about the poem, I apologize. But some of the imagery really stuck in my head which is a good sign both for me and your poem. I'm 64 and every sign of decline in mind or body is a cause for concern. How could this poem not have made an impression on me?
This poem harps on that as well. And I do sometimes revisit and come up with new versions. So, we’re all good 🙏🏻🕊️
Very emotive words Rik showing the differences in our lives but I am sure the way we are goingn will lead to good times.
Andy
Let the good times roll, Andy 🕊️🙏
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