The Attic

The Attic


I found some words in a sack

In the attic of my neglected life

They were hidden under a pile of old sentences

Behind a stack of stale ideas.


I was looking for answers to questions

Discovered veiled in a glance

Questions that strike in the night

Questions, not asked, but asking


Questions that bubble up unbidden

Out of unrelated intersections

Of minds, bodies and hearts

Out of love and dependency.


I searched in books and wisdoms

I took trips outside my mind

I sat at guru’s feet

And I suckled at the breasts of lust & love.


I wore suits cut from the cloth of

Success and worldly things

Suits made out of virtue

Robes of value in the eyes of others.


Despite all this, the questions persist

No matter how loud my retorts

My endless testing

They just kept on asking, asking.


With no answers to this constant enquiry

I settled for an unsettling truce

With this splinter in the finger of my soul

I endured a passable charade.


The sham crumbled to reveal a brittle skeleton.

With no cards left to play to avoid, I climb

Into the attic of my neglected life

To search amongst the cobwebs and dust


I now have these words, a jumbled mass

A jigsaw without edges or picture

A map without compass or reference

A puzzle to solve, a self to resolve.



I arrange and rearrange, over and over

Looking for meaning, hoping for light

Still they elude me, they hide and they tease

Still I write, as a prayer for my hearts ease.


Written by Francis de Aguilar©2014




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