I wake up adorned in the raiment of grief
An old coat finishes the ensemble
Patched and threadbare in all of the usual places
The pockets often seem full
with memories and images of the ones I’ve lost
My familiar acquaintance, regret, is usually there too,
avoiding the holes in the fabric time tries to put there
Despite appearances to the contrary,
the coat has been very well made
by all of the tailors no longer here
Comments
Great!
I enjoyed your poem very much. It had a great ending. It was very nicely structured and flowed well. Thanks for sharing.
Thanks T! Really appreciate
Thanks T! Really appreciate the visit and your thoughts on this piece.
Best
Hi Mike
As the years build we can't help but wear the grief of those who have left. Good metaphor using the suit.
Thanks Scrib!
Thanks Scrib!
Old age is...
a fine tailor! He knows just where to put the patches and uses a fine, strong thread to sew up the holes in your pockets of regret. We sometimes fail to see the beauty in an old worn coat, I relish the memories that are stuffed in those pockets and the smell from old friendships, wood chips, and the smoke from a campfire, maybe even the scent of those pines we sat under. Good work! ~ Gee.
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Thanks Geez! After writing
Thanks Geez! After writing this I don't want to toss any old coats - LOL!
Cheers
hello Michael,
very wistful write. great nostalgia here. made me feel humble. thank you.
*hugs, Cat
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Very flattered by your
Very flattered by your comments C! Thank you for stopping by on this one.
Best