Friday, February 21, 2014

1305



Something so old, so tattered.
An eyesore on our street.
Weathered with age, naturally distressed.
Although it isn’t perfect, shiny or new, it has a hidden beauty.
Untold stories of people passing through.
I wish these doors could talk, tell me about the past.
A time long forgotten, in a world that moves so fast.
For now they stand in silence, an outcast no one wants.
Hidden beneath decay, rotting wood that seems to haunt.
Something so old, so tattered.
An eyesore on our street.
A testament of time.
I think they’re pretty neat.  

No comments:

Post a Comment