In Shere's Mental Attic

cobwebs...
and a box of discarded valentines
a seamtress dummy with a victorian dress on it--corset exposed

a raggedy Anne doll in a tattered apron, still sporting her goofy smile
some old sketches of horses and sunsets

a diary with dandelion blossoms crushed inside the pages
so that they tear when you try to turn them
but it's okay...the words don't matter...they didn't then and they don't know

I slipped in here to write about the cobwebs in my mind, but they slip away
fragile and easily broken... the thoughts of a dreamer always are I think...

It's been a day of rain and grayness,
a day where a smile or two has shown light, briefly brightening the grayness.

Never managed to write what was on my mind today.
They're just words and nothing more...
I realize all I'll ever write here in this blog will be random rose madder ramblings,
the occasional carnal thought and a splash silly milly laughter...

Some of us aren't destined to be of greatness... we'll be recognized as what we seem to be rather than who we really are...

In this attic, I see pieces of myself. Cobwebs aren't so bad either...in fact they resemble graying lace... I love lace, don't you?