Carousel of Dust

Round and round, the horses frozen,

Paint chipped, manes tangled with time.
Once they galloped to childish
laughter,
Now they stand in eerie mime.

Tarnished poles reach toward a ceiling,

Where cherubs smile with blackened
faces.
Mirrors cracked reflect distorted
dreams,
Of summer days and cotton candy graces.

The calliope, once bright with song,

Sits silent, pipes clogged with years.
Its melody a faint memory,
Like whispers in phantom ears.

Lightbulbs, long since darkened,

Circle the ride in mocking cheer.
No glow to warm the splintered seats,
Or illuminate the gathering fear.

The ticket booth, a cobwebbed cave,

Where hopes were once exchanged for
rides.
Now houses only scuttling things,
And secrets that the darkness hides.

Chipped and faded, painted horses,

Some with legs or tails askew,
Still wear their garish armor,
Though joy has bid them all adieu.

The brass ring, tarnished, hangs

untouched,
No reaching hands to grab the prize.
The laughter of victory silenced,
Replaced by wood rot's creak and sighs.

A lone teddy bear, arm missing,

Sits sentry on a dusty steed.
Forgotten prize or left behind?
A totem to childhood's recede.

The gears below, once smoothly turning,

Lie rusted, seized in time's embrace.
No more the gentle rise and fall,
That set young hearts to race.

Wind whispers through the rafters,

Carrying echoes of yesteryear.
When families gathered, wide-eyed,
For moments precious, bright, and dear.

But now the carousel stands idle,

A monument to fleeting joy.
Its magic faded, wonder dimmed,
No longer charming girl or boy.

In twilight's glow, some swear they

see,
The horses shake their painted manes.
As if longing for one last ride,
Before time washes out their reins.

Yet morning always finds them still,

These sentinels of bygone days.
The carousel of dust spins on,
In memory's bittersweet haze.