Old Things

There are some things
Long forgotten in a box
Translucent with age, like fairy wings
That taste like the rust on the locks
Keeping them from the outside world.

The sound of these voices
Is hard and bitter with cacophony:
The banging and shrieking of past choices
And emotions screaming for empathy
From any distant invisible outstretched hand.

Then others are like play dough,
Naively colorful in childish romp.
They were always for show,
Now hard with glitter, feathers, and pomp.
Set them aside with a sad smile.

Yet, here an old quilt from warm hearth.
Soft and warm, thought faded.
Wrapped up in it's worth
You may forget you are jaded
From the past you loved to hate.

No comments:

Post a Comment