Replicas Of Yesterday
R RoseAnn V. Shawiak
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Finished replicas of yesterday, standing alone on dusty shelves,
of no use to anyone.
Tattered remains of several doilies lying yellowy upon an
antique table.
Somewhere, in a time of long-lost dreams, there are shadows of
hopes and dreams.
So much a part of the grayness of age, hardly able to address
the outlines of their images.
Forlornly suffocating in requiem piles, unable to light the
spark of life and begin breathing again.
Looking sidelongingly against dust-filled panes of glass, no
longer recognizable as windows.
Searching shadows for promises long since forgotten and put
to rest.
Quaint little mistakes caked against canyon walls, unable to
scrape themselves off and become useful again.
Wonder and belief of finished replicas of yesterday lie alone
on dusty shelves today, of no use to anyone.
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