The Hostel The hotel was old Looking out on darkened streets, In dimly lit windows Curtains wept for days gone by. At the front, battered columns Stood like crutches Supporting memories. They stood, on either side of a column. She, with sunken eyes of londliness, Her tattered clothes and holey shoes Poor defenders against the cold. He, with empty smiles of dementia, His blackened, whiskered face Daring the wind. Never speaking of life As it raced by. Never asking, never knowing, Just accepting, Waiting Until tomorrow, For the changing of the guard.
C. Lawry Brown's Questions:
Do I get my point across in this one by the imagery, the feeling of
desperation for a time lost? This old hotel that once was a beautiful place
holds up only memories and the hopeless are its tenants.