In The Catacombs Poem by Tom Billsborough

I wander through my catacomb of songs,
The half-remembered rhymes,
Which come like whispers
From the shadows, from every recess of the mind.
All this belongs to me, is part of me,
Uniquely mine, as though I was a house
Injected with a thousand ghosts,
A house abandoned to its consciousness,
Its rooms the tombs of past desires.
Nothing much endures. The plaster falls.
The paintwork peels. The wind and rain
Alone gain critical acclaim.
I wander through my catacomb of songs,
But not for long. No, not for long.
As now my memory fades.