* The Cold Attic Of The Mind Poem by Rani Turton

Cold winter light, it does not seem
As though warmth could ever return
Ever replenish, refurnish
The cold attic of the mind

The mind, aching, the body, bent
Seeks to escape; thus it is
Ducks float placidly on rivers.

Dust on books, light glancing off
A precious stone on a ring.
Some souvenirs of the past
The journey has been long,
So long, so tiring, so solitary.

The frost will soon cease.
But the steps sound so loud.
Night comes, doors close.
Even the trees slumber.

Who is certain to attain immortality?
Why is it the body dies?
Nocturnal musing: moon rays
Lighten dark corners.