It used to stand so straight and so strong
But time went on and wore it down
Now it appears to simply hang limp
The light bulb blackened with dust
The lamp shade yellowed by cigarette smoke
The glistening brass, now monotonous
The marble band once stood lustrous
Now it slouches, fractured like old bones
Tattered stitches hang like dead branches
Nature beating them down, unforgiving
The lamp hidden in darkness
Ashamed of its ancient scars of use and abuse
It stands crippled in a pool of dirt and dust,
Of cobwebs and rotting attic insulation
But it remembers its happy past,
There radiant on the living-room table
In just behind the window for the world to see
Then, the light bulb was new and clear
Glowing like sunshine in summertime
The shade, brilliant and bleached to ­perfection
The brass, more golden than that of a crown
The marble, whole and marvelous like a new column
It stood proud and egotistical for the world
Then the world fell apart.
War broke out and riots began
A brick was thrown through the window of the house
Breaking the lamp and its invincibility
The owners put it away near the ashtray
Of the back corner bedroom, not near a ­window anymore
Then one day, they put it in the attic
Left it there to die alone
And so now it stays covered with shadows
Of a misunderstood past
And an unknown future