#Flight of stairs

Fragile like glass sparrows,
Tight and wound like thread;
But what happens when one reaches the end of such a spool?

A partly gleaming pair of industrious scissors,
Oxidizing in this humid land.
We've served our duty
Please don't tell me this:
We're replaceable?
Wandering past our usefulness
Our souls to keep

Inner conflicts like mice;
Scatter and run from our kindly-reserved pine coffins,
Rap --and buckle you in!-- through the stormy, shaking night
Glad for you, beams don't break under emotional trauma
Glad for you, these homes are soundproof, despite their many years;
Dead and content, in a very dangerous, passive way.

The frightened, tired stars are off and on, through meaningless centuries;
For to them time means naught but more terrestrial tourneys to be observant of;
And, currently fighting for a ticket to this social gathering,
They watch you.

But for this skylight above, all would lead to dark corners;
Undusted attics.

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