|
Menu
|
|
|
Social
|
|
|
|
Still Life
Contributed by
minnesotarose
on
Friday, 30th May 2003 @ 07:35:00 AM in AEST
Topic:
LovePoetry
|
It's been quiet around here Since you've been gone, Perhaps I will fare well Without all the distraction Of love's commotion, I have enough to do - A pile of unopened mail To sift through, That perennial stack of books I move from here to there, I vow someday to read. I sleep a lot, for now, Those days that drag on forever - There's a calm in this place Without your presence, But not the expected peace To go with it. My mother had a picture She kept on the wall for years, As long as I can remember, A bowl of fruit, With some pottery nearby, It was small, an ordinary print, I wondered for years Why she kept it. You never said you loved me, I know, I want to believe, In the unseen, the unknown, In angels with mercy. I need to believe. Where I live, there is a plant On the window ledge, I've had it a long time, It has gone along with me Everywhere I've been, Misshapen, and needs tending to, It's nothing special, a common kind, But it still grows Wherever I decide to let it be. It has its place.
Copyright ©
minnesotarose
... [
2003-05-30 07:35:00] (Date/Time posted on
site)
Advertisments:
|
|
|
|
|
Sorry, comments are no longer allowed for anonymous, please register for a free membership to access this feature and more
|
|
All comments are owned by the poster. Your Poetry
Dot Com is not responsible for the content of any
comment. That said, if you find an offensive comment, please
contact via the FeedBack Form with details, including poem title
etc.
|
|
|
Re: Still Life
(User Rating: 1 ) by Former_Member on
Wednesday, 11th February 2004 @ 10:22:15 PM AEST (User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
I have a hard time understanding why this has not been commented on. It is strange that time flies so fast when life is happy and full. Yet each day becomes a month when someone who has been a big part of your life leaves. As I get older I realize how much of ourselves are entwined with the lives of those we love, and it is like we drop a stitch in the tapestry when they are gone, and finding it difficult to pick back up again. This is an amazing piece of work. Rita |
|
|
|