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In lonely, darkened corners hang the cobwebs of almost;
The last discarded memories are long-forgotten ghosts
Of unattained ambitions and of echo-empty boasts.
Their voices now are silence, but the cobwebs gather dust.

I sewed a net of gossamer, and pricked it full of holes,
To fish the moon's reflection from a sea where night unfolds
Its tales of mystery and dreams that no man yet has told;
Dawn caught me empty-handed, standing sodden in the shoals.

I tried my hand at playing Man. The critics rode reviews
O'er courses somewhat quizzical; their hollow-horned halloos
Had, in the distance, sighted game retreating right on cue,
Though never run to earth – their quarry 'scaped that rendezvous.

To pluck the stars from out the sky, to venture through a mist
And reach the edge of nothingness, to cast my boat adrift
Upon the whims of fortune's tide, such destinies I've wished.
Yet all I have to show from life are unfulfilled requests.

I hide this dull uncertainty with metaphors of gloom,
Search out cachets of yesterday to spill their stale perfume;
The attic of time's mansion's stuffed with flowers that never bloomed
But wilt and fade – their pale bouquet breathes melancholic fumes.

No spiders climb the cobwebs of my dry-rot riddled past
From which I built tomorrows, though I knew they'd never last.
My future stands deserted now, a derelict unmasked;
Old ruins only phantoms haunt, where cobwebs gather dust.
derelict mansion
adapted from an uncredited photo found at

photo: Stephen Alsford

Created: November 17, 2014. © Stephen Alsford