“Rocking Horse.”

There’s a rocking horse in the attic
And what stories it could tell
It creaks and cracks but it sits once proud
For the love it gave was monumental.

There were songs and so much laughter
Echoing long and loud and without end
“It’s my turn, no I want to go first”
The horsey always the belle of the ball.

The rides that lasted all day long
Began to flee as time ticked on
More pressing matters placed on its back
And nothing pleasant like before.

The rocking slowed and the dark crept in
Where sunshine lived, now without joy
The pushing, pulling, bending increased
Still used but not with pleasure anymore.

There she sits and there she rocks
And no one sees the tears in her eyes
No one notices her thread bare seams
And no one feels her emptiness.

This is her place, as shadows fall
Without movement or sound at all
The tears aren’t falling to the floor anymore
Facing the corner under a blanket of dust.

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