An old, rotting crate,
sitting untouched in an attic.
Covered in thick dust,
while the rain seemed erratic.
In the darkness—
Not a person came up.
Awaiting to be seen,
but there wasn’t any luck.
Curtains obstruct the flow of moonlight,
preventing drops of glowing bliss.
There was no joy to be found,
and joy, it did miss.
The homeowners had arrived
chirping happily about their day.
Footsteps trodding on the hardwood floor
while the rain poured harder without delay.
They were unaware that the crate was up there.
They left the attic unexplored.
So the crate rests somberly still,
despairingly fixed to the floor.
Nobody can hear the hushed abandonment,
which is a mind longing for help.
Its soundless decaying concealed from the world,
yearning to be mended by anyone who cares.