TumbleDweeeb

The doorknob knows a thousand hands But remembers none at all- Each touch a fleeting whisper that Dissolves against its wall.

The window holds a hundred views of storms and stars and rain, Yet never blinks, never sighs, Never shares our pain.

The bed has cradled joy and grief, Birth, death, and lovers’ dreams, But cotton, spring, and wooden frame Care nothing what life means.

The stairs have felt the heavy steps Of triumph and defeat, Yet rise unchanged each morning to The rhythm of new feet.

These silent things that shape our days, That witness how we fall and rise- They hold no judgment, shed no tears, Keep no records, tell no lies. Forever present, forever mute, As centuries slip by.