Fixed Gaze

The back room felt like a cold stone cave,

where forgotten things the years couldn't save

stood rigid, still. A dusty owl,

with glass for eyes, began to scowl.

Or so it seemed, in that thin light,

its plumage dull, no longer bright.

A silent guard, with head askew,

watching me, or watching through.

It caught the sun, a pale, weak gleam,

a frozen bird inside a dream.

It held its breath, forever caught,

a lesson in what time has brought.