Silhouettes of humanity mingle freely here,
The past to cherish, the present to fear.
History is their ringmaster, cracking the whip,
Across wardrobes of dried in stained mahogany,
Across a kitchen table, an archaic wooden drawer in its centre,
Across beds, that living septuagenarians were born in,
Across a giant dishevelled armchair,
Transported on the back of a Bedford, in the year of the big snow.
A gaping chest of drawers, cumbersome and heavy,
Tilting slightly, like a punch-drunk boxer,
Reveals images in black and white,
Of weddings and, newspaper cuttings, from a previous century.
These minions of cherished memories,
Refusing to depart their stubborn perch,
Bound tightly around the heart,
Of one, who will not let them go.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Atlantis by Dermot McGarthy )
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