Apart From The Decay Poem by nathan martin

an old shed leans crookedly in the tall grass.
a door is lifted and opened.

like a warn vinyl record to the needle rusty hinges
snap and crackle as they turn.

between slight variations in tone metallic
yesterdays speak through hinged lips.

i am apart from the decay they say.


now little is inside except some dust with a
few oddities scattered around.

a dented paint can that had been knocked over,
the paint lieing on the floor in a dry puddle.

splintered out in ornate pattern it relects in
sort of a greenish blue color.

it seems to innocent and pure for its surroundings.

the paint speaks through its flat chipped throat lowly.

i am apart from the decay it say's.