Weathered with Age, a poem

weathered (3)


The barn sits in the corner
Of the property
Sloped roof, full of snow
The paint has worn thin
And what once shined brightly,
Is now a dull gray with age.
My, how things change. . .
The wind whistles eerily
through the wood siding
and though I am alone,
the past whispers
grainy voices from another time
and I sit facing the window
morning coffee in my hands.
The barn leans slightly to the left
and I can’t help but wonder –
what will happen in time?
What will happen –
When the walls no longer hold
And gravity pulls my faded memories
Down – like a stack of blocks
No testament to the hours
I have spent building them up
No song shall remain
Of what I have done
And I can’t help but wonder –
What will happen in time?
When my own walls
Come crashing down.

© Sumyanna 2016


Submitted for The Daily Post Prompt: age

Image courtesy of


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