An abandoned railway in Paris, overgrown with vines and mosses
Crumbling walls of a once opulent mansion–faded paper, broken glass
Hidden pathways, neglected gardens colored only in browns & grays,
My mind can only imagine the magnificent mosaic of color–now just a foggy haze.
Ferris wheels, dance halls too, grand palaces, wondrous theaters–now silent: no more shouts of joy, no more laughter, no more music, no more…only echoes; an eerie, silent applause.
Curiosity tugs at my mind, my heart, my soul.
Who rode the rails? What was their journey? A long anticipated trip, a brand new start for a family, or a soldier off to war–All packed with uncertainty; so brave yet so unsure.
Who walked these paths or lived inside with happiness; perhaps despair? What secrets lie inside these walls–What love, what heartache, what tears, what joys? What hopes, what dreams, what fears?
Who fell in love at the summer fair, who made their big debut?
Who fed our imaginations with stories, melodies & verse, so boldly on display? Who faded into the sunset before their time, a final curtain call, perhaps only a talent cliche?
A million memories bombard the air with energy you can feel–is there anyone left to be the voice; to share the stories of simplistic things left behind–the narrative of our lives?