Hark! The rhythm

Hark! The rhythm. The pellet drum rattles. The dance begins. The creation, the annihilation, the fleeing in-betweens, and beyond these appar...

Monday, February 13, 2017

Keepsake

Some yesterdays,
we sat together
on a rickety age old chair
made of teak wood,
treacherously balanced
by our uneven weights,
sharing little tidbits,
browsing the galleries that held
our picture-perfect kodak moments.
The ever responsible you
had warned me about
the splinters
I might get
and the madcap that I am
I unheeded,
laughed off your caution,
and sat right beside you.
Caught up in simplicity
of such moments,
we attempted to
fathom our complexities.
The chair sits empty today,
forsaken and gathering dust.
The keepsake
breathes our laughter.
And I can't bring myself
to chuck out the relic.

Linking with Friday Fictioneers

6 comments:

  1. our lives are made of those relics we can't bear to throw out

    ReplyDelete
  2. That is lovely... maybe you should add the picture that prompted the poem?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you so much Dale. Will try to insert the picture and update the post.

      Delete
  3. This is truly poignant.. sad, yet beautiful.

    ReplyDelete

Since every thought is a seed, I am looking forward to a delicious harvest.