Poems

Blue curtains

The curtains were blue,
no really, they were,
each individual thread and
stitch was filled with
darkness and secrets, they
had seen light and
dark, like clockwork, they
had seen the peaks
and the valleys of
people's lives, they had
seen every intimate corner,
every scar, every pleasure
they were the binding
of a fragile book,
every spec of dust,
every small mark contained
a moment in time,
a memory, they opened
and closed , marked new
beginnings and closed chapters
of prose, the happinesses
of life, glistened in
light, but the hardest
moments were the heaviest,
weighing down, straining the
tight stitches between pieces
but at dusk when
they were pulled together

shut

as they blocked the
darkness that you once
showed them, the dust
and depression took flight,
out into the fresh
air, that provided it
with a new start
and a new life
and a new path,
off into someone else's
room, someone else's eyes,
at dawn the job
did not finish, they
were there to see
that morning bed hair,
they watched as you
dressed for the day,
and meticulously coated your
face in what they
could only describe as
a paint, they took
their final glance as
you pulled them apart
as the light came
into the room and
the dust was lit
up by the sun
new life had arrived.