Well Worn Chair
by Ahrin Lee
(Which rests in the corner of the well-worn room)
has been hiding, sheltered in the cold arms
of working cousins.
An unfinished repair of a chair who sighs
and sinks, propped unceremoniously
on a wall, who too has long forgotten the days
of fresh paint and care.
The weathered room wears thick coats of dust,
intrinsically tied to the ragged carpet,
the tattered skin of the once-proud furniture,
jagged edges gently filled with time,
the tattered skin of the once-proud furniture,
jagged edges gently filled with time,
a soft and unwelcome reminder
of days long gone.
A vestige of a vibrant house, this room
will stay, as rot sets in and time takes its course,
but that memory of that well-worn room
outlives its origin, free from fear, hope, change
until it too slips,
an artifact of a bygone age
buried in still and lonely shores.
but that memory of that well-worn room
outlives its origin, free from fear, hope, change
until it too slips,
an artifact of a bygone age
buried in still and lonely shores.
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