Behold the stairs which felt our tread
Carpet frayed and thinning
Threadbare stairs which we walked down each day
and up each night, the very way
Stairs on which our footfalls fell
Our secrets they would never tell
These stairs have seen us through our pasts
The only evidence that lasts
When voices still, when bodies' lust
of flesh and bone has turned to dust
Though wood is worn and cloth unspun
These stairs are here and we are gone.
submitted for Magpie Tales, Number 228
and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday
