Imagine a porch swing,
weathered, all-white,
gazes west as the sun
journeys home.
You, wrapped in linen,
thoughts lost in last light,
caress the words
of your poem.
There falls your bookmark,
worn thin and blue,
tattered where once
it wore lace.
You, wrapped in dreams,
some of which you outgrew,
softly settle it back
in its place.
Gather the moments
when paper met pen
and your poetry
traveled the page.
You, wrapped in memories
of the girl you knew then -
and the bookmark,
less fragile with age.
Comments
Conversations...
with one's self can be pretty revealing. I like this; I wouldn't change a thing. I'm sure that many of us do the same, we just don't write about it. Poignant and timeless. ~ Geezer.
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Conversations
Good morning, Geezer!
When I was much younger I wrote a lot of poetry about peace, love, war...abstract and disorganized poetry at best. Kept some of it and reread it every once in a while. Thank you for reading.
Peace! :)
L
Hello Lavender, this is a
Hello Lavender, this is a lovely piece. I also wrote poems when I was a child, but unfortunately they are lost.
I like the way you've rhymed the last lines of each strophe. No nits, enjoyed.
Gracy
Hello, Gracy,
Thank you so much for reading, Gracy. I appreciate your kind thoughts.
L
Hi, Jerry
As poets, when we look back at our lives we reflect on who we were, and who we have become - which I feel is also reflected in most of your poetry!
Thank you, Jerry!
L
Pause
Hello, Teddy,
It certainly was a moment to pause and reflect. I always appreciate your sincerity!
Thank you so much!
L