The Drape

A decade old drape; the colors worn and tattered as it sits in the corner. Itâs between the inside and the out but it doesnât feel like a part of either.Â
The window the only company next to the rain and the snow but they are only temporary, they come and go, their friendship fickle and cold. The only support is a rusty rod but heâs grown too old to carry the weight; he canât stay forever. The drape stays dirty and neglected, ignored as it stares at the owners wondering when they will notice itâs silent suffering. As the days pass, hope dwindles of a new beginning until finally the wind blows him off of the old Rod. Â Suddenly, he finds his way to the outside, an outsider he flies far far away..

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Comments
Great poem angelÂ