In the corners of my mind
there are no marbled floors
or carpet anywhere.
Instead there is a creakin
as within wooden floors . . .
though nobody is there.
Shimmering cobwebs embrace air . . .
what lived there? Dare I care?
In the shadows mem'ries hide
wiped like strains on the floor--
smothered by an old coat.
Happiness or misery
both make us walk the floor
till we can't anymore.
In ones' proper state of mind
sentries stand at the door
lest something be taken.
Viruses and diseases
crouch and wait evermore . . .
quietly stealing memories.
In the corners of such minds
there's nothing but clean floors--
vacant eyes stare quite sad.
Posted, a sign: "Vacancy" . . .
and feelings dwell ne'er more.