(Photo by Dan Felstead of Wood and Pixel Narratives)
THE BARN LOFT
I stand now silent and still,
a forgotten remnant from the past.
Once the farming lifeline,
now fading away, left to rot and decay,
taking the last essence of country soul.
Look closely upon my old, scarred walls,
past faded wood and splinters;
I wear my wounds deeply,
initials and names carved with care,
reminding but a few what is lost.
My ladder now too rickety
to support the weight of men,
but I’ve held great weights indeed
upon my sturdy shoulders,
sustenance for vital lives.
Will I be remembered in the coming centuries?
Or is my core done lost?
I want to be loved again,
can’t you see my potential?
Or am I just a lowly loft, forgotten and alone?