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The House of Times Past

    I knocked on the door of times past, no one answered.
    I knocked a second time and then another and another.
    No answer.
    The house of times past is halfway covered with vines
    the other half is covered with ashes.

    The house where no one dies and I am knocking and             
    calling.
    Just for the pain of calling and not being heard.
    Just only to keep knocking. The echo brings back
    my anxiety of opening these frozen steps.
    Night and day mingle together in the waiting
    in the knocking and knocking.

    Times past certainly do not exist.
    And the empty building has been condemned.

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  • Yemassee Moderators member
    July 8

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    In a previous poem Drummond used the past to portray pleasure. Here he uses it for the opposite. I think it's only inconsistent if we believe our emotions are inflexible.

    No, if we are looking to go home again, the building is condemned, but if we are just looking for nostalgia, the windows may be still unboarded and we can see inside. The former is a desire to re-live a life, the latter to re-live a moment.