Untold

Letters of debt, newspapers uncollected,
Strewn across the harsh concrete, unattended;
Inches of dust, swirl, in a gust of cold wind,
Covering fallen frames, of forgotten scenes.

All is silent, but for the achingly slow dripping,
Of a leaking tap, and the fleeting whispering
Of an addict or two, in the empty halls scratching
The walls, barren save unruly vines as its lining.

What forlorn past lies within the walls?
The humdrum of office drones,
A grand ball in the masquerade hall-
What is it that cannot be shown?

Perhaps once the multitudes chattered,
Gossiped of all that had not mattered,
Over an aromatic mug of coffee,
Or cultured cups of Darjeeling tea.

Maybe once upon a more prosperous time,
The corridors with chandeliers shined,
Filled with entertainers of every kind,
Jugglers, musicians, and pantomimes.

What mysteries are hidden by the rotten cupboards?
What secrets have been muffled by mice’s chatters?
Is this a veil, behind which a story lies?
Or has this building always been without life?

Sadness fills me, as I shall never truly know
For what is gone is forever lost, water under snow
And all that remains, is this empty building for show,
A grim reminder of the story that was never told.