Trained Attic - Revised

I felt a sharp pain 
when I reached for the chain
{that pulled}to pull down the ladder 
{that leads}leading to the attic
of my mind.

I do not know 
{all that is}exactly what's stowed
in that poematorium
where my free verse 
and strict forms repose.

Without a view, 
but with sun shining through,
I can surely see 
my words do not cast
a single shadow.

So, before my offspring 
must sift through my things,
I'm removing my lines 
from unseen storage 
for scrutinized transport.

From garret to stations, 
{and} unknown destinations,
I'm placing myself[,]
not in a container,
but in the Cafe of a Poem Train.


Original:

Trained Attic

I felt a sharp pain when I reached for the chain
that pulled down the ladder 
that leads to the attic
of my mind.

I truly do not know all that is stowed
in that poematorium
where my free verse 
and strict forms repose.

Without a view, with the sun shining through,
I can surely see 
that my words do not cast
a single shadow.

So, before my offspring must sift through my things,
I'm removing my lines 
from unseen storage 
for scrutinized transport.

From garret to stations, and unknown destinations,
I'm placing myself
not in a container,
but in the Cafe of a Poem Train.

Trained Attic - Revised

I felt a sharp pain 
when I reached for the chain
that pulled down the ladder 
that leads to the attic
of my mind.

I do not know 
all that is stowed
in that poematorium
where my free verse 
and strict forms repose.

Without a view, 
but with sun shining through,
I can surely see 
my words do not cast
a single shadow.

So, before my offspring 
must sift through my things,
I'm removing my lines 
from unseen storage 
for scrutinized transport.

From garret to stations, 
and unknown destinations,
I'm placing myself
not in a container,
but in the Cafe of a Poem Train.


Original:

Trained Attic

I felt a sharp pain when I reached for the chain
that pulled down the ladder 
that leads to the attic
of my mind.

I truly do not know all that is stowed
in that poematorium
where my free verse 
and strict forms repose.

Without a view, with the sun shining through,
I can surely see 
that my words do not cast
a single shadow.

So, before my offspring must sift through my things,
I'm removing my lines 
from unseen storage 
for scrutinized transport.

From garret to stations, and unknown destinations,
I'm placing myself
not in a container,
but in the Cafe of a Poem Train.