The man that lives in the attic

is soot-coated ebony licorice.

serpentine tongue with whip-like wit.

His smile, as crooked and bony is his back.

Let not his feeble appearance fool you.

Surprisingly spry and attentive is he

and he seldom rests.

Not a wink while there's dark.

Like a bat in your cave, slinging his guano around.

Hidden in the corner, now covered in webs

and dust, a trunk is found. One lock. One key.

My turn, deep breath... and then

light. Just light and awe.

And I remembered the very last time

the attic was empty. When I was a child.

Saffron and gold colored streams beam through

the window at the far end of the place.

Shiny cedar wood floor and baby's breath painted walls

fall open a space that rivals any great hall.

"Such a wonderful place", said a whisper one day

"It'd be a shame for it to go to waist.

Why not bring something to fill in the space?

Surely, you have wonderful taste"

My father's grandfather's grandfather clock

and my moms old pot pourri I brought

I was sitting there one day, admiring my stuff

when out of the shadow or pile of dust

a figure appeared to be making a fuss.

That's when I met the little man

who came to live in the shadows

of the space in my attic.

He languished my effects with lengthy word kisses

and praised me for my acquisition of them.

I took to listening to the old man,

he was smooth at first, even helping me

Bring more things to the space until one day...

I noticed

the light had been stamped out.

And it had been he and I and the stuff

in the dark

for a while.

My turn, deep breath... and then

light. Just light and awe.

The man that lives in the attic

is soot-coated ebony licorice.

serpentine tongue with whip-like wit.

His smile, as crooked and bony is his back.

Let not his feeble appearance fool you.

Surprisingly spry and attentive is he

and he seldom rests.

Not a wink while there's dark.

Like a bat in your cave, slinging his guano around.

Hidden in the corner, now covered in webs

and dust, a trunk is found. One lock. One key.

My turn, deep breath... and then

light. Just light and awe.

And I remembered the very last time

the attic was empty. When I was a child.

Saffron and gold colored streams beam through

the window at the far end of the place.

Shiny cedar wood floor and baby's breath painted walls

fall open a space that rivals any great hall.

"Such a wonderful place", said a whisper one day

"It'd be a shame for it to go to waist.

Why not bring something to fill in the space?

Surely, you have wonderful taste"

My father's grandfather's grandfather clock

and my moms old pot pourri I brought

I was sitting there one day, admiring my stuff

when out of the shadow or pile of dust

a figure appeared to be making a fuss.

That's when I met the little man

who came to live in the shadows

of the space in my attic.

He languished my effects with lengthy word kisses

and praised me for my acquisition of them.

I took to listening to the old man,

he was smooth at first, even helping me

Bring more things to the space until one day...

I noticed

the light had been stamped out.

And it had been he and I and the stuff

in the dark

for a while.

My turn, deep breath... and then

light. Just light and awe.

Brandyrox ©