A poem by Meg Sorick

My memory castle is a ruin
Its halls littered with debris
My fingers brush the dusty walls
And I strain in the gloom to see

The once bright panels and paintings
Have mouldered and mildewed with time
The shining pristine sculptures
Are crumbled and coated with grime

Moonlight streams through rotted beams
When I cast a glance above me
For the roof has fallen inward
And its heaven I can see

When I come at last to the final room
I resist the urge to turn and flee
The handle stays my trembling hand
My closet is an ossuary but I have lost the key