A Day in the Life of an Antiques Dealer - A Day in Dust and Dreams - A Sonnet
A Day in Dust and DreamsThe pallid dawn, a whisper through the pane,Finds me awake, though shadows linger deep.Another day, a tapestry to stainWith echoes old, secrets the ages keep.No bustling clock, no siren's strident call,But gentle chimes, a long-forgotten tune,Awakens senses, mindful of the thrallThat binds me to this fragile, fading moon.I rise and dress, in garb both quaint and worn,A muted homage to the past I crave,And breathe the air, a history newly born,A silent prologue to the lives they gave.A simple breakfast, then the shop awaits,A sanctuary filled with bygone fates.I unlock doors, that groan a weary sound,Like ancient hinges sighing in their sleep.The dust motes dance, where sunbeams can be found,Illuminating secrets they will keep.My fingers trace the contours, cold and smooth,Of porcelain dolls, with eyes that seem to stare,And ponder on the lives they used to soothe,The childish dreams they helped their owners share.A grandfather clock, with face of tarnished gold,Stands sentinel, its pendulum's slow swingA measured rhythm, stories to unfold,Of birth and death, the joy and sorrow bring.Each object here, a fragment, lost and lone,A piece of lives, completely overgrown.The first to enter, Mrs. Gable meek,With hesitant steps and eyes that softly gleam.She seeks a trinket, humble, yet unique,A memory stirred, a half-forgotten dream.She scans the shelves, where silver catches light,A teapot worn, a locket finely wrought.Her gaze descends, a slow and careful flight,Until it rests on something she has sought.A tiny brooch, a cameo of jade,Reminds her of her grandmother, so dear.A whisper sighs, a memory displayed,A gentle smile that conquers every fear."It's perfect," she declares, her voice so low,A silent promise that her tears will flow.Then comes the scholar, Mr. Alistair Grey,With spectacles perched upon his scholarly nose.He seeks a text, from a bygone yesterday,A hidden truth that history bestows.He speaks of folios, and bindings rare,Of watermarks, and printing's ancient art.His passion burns, a flame beyond compare,A quest for knowledge, etched upon his heart.He disappears within the stacks, immense,A labyrinth of words, a paper maze,And spends the hours, lost in past events,Unravelling the threads of bygone days.He emerges then, with triumph in his eyes,A treasure found, beneath the dust's disguise.A young couple enters, hand in hand they stroll,Their eyes alight with curiosity's spark.They seek a gift, to make their new house whole,A touch of history, to leave its lasting mark.They pause before a table, finely carved,Its surface smooth, with intricate design.A silent story, beautifully deserved,Of artisans, whose skill will always shine.He points towards a lamp, with shade of stained glass,Its colours vibrant, like a rainbow's gleam.She smiles and nods, allowing time to pass,Imagining its light, a comforting dream.They purchase it, a symbol of their love,A timeless piece, sent from the heavens above.The afternoon descends, a golden haze,Across the room, the shadows start to creep.A weary sigh escapes from bygone days,As sunlight fades, and secrets fall asleep.A dealer calls, to offer wares unknown,Estate sale finds, from attics long concealed.I listen close, to what he's overgrown,A careful ear, to treasures to revealed.He speaks of paintings, portraits, landscapes grand,And furniture, with elegance and grace.I ponder long, assess with careful hand,The potential worth, within this dusty space.We strike a deal, a bargain fairly won,Another chapter in the day begun.The shadows lengthen, evening's soft embrace,A gentle quiet descends upon the street.The shop grows dim, a solitary space,Where memories linger, bittersweet.I straighten shelves, and dust the fragile things,That hold within, the stories of the past.A silent prayer, the memories brings,To honour those, whose lives were meant to last.I close the books, and lock the doors with care,And bid farewell to all that lies within.Another day, a burden light to bear,A connection deep, where yesterday can win.The antique dealer's day now at an end,A journey through time, a faithful friend.And as I walk, beneath the starlit sky,I carry with me, fragments of the day.The echoes soft, the whispered lullaby,Of lives that faded, then again held sway.The dust of ages clings to my worn hands,A testament to stories yet untold.A silent promise, whispered through the lands,That history's flame, will never be cold.For in each object, found and carefully kept,A piece of human spirit finds its rest.A legacy of dreams, where secrets slept,Awakened now, and eternally blessed.The antique dealer sleeps, his dreams alight,With treasures old, bathed in ethereal light.