We stored our lives in empty boxes;
some in yours, some in mine.
With the tiniest hope, we hid our love in cardboard boxes,
that will sit gathering dust.
With faint longing, we buried our laughter under sheets of your music, and my scribbled notes.
With muted tears, we gathered all our promises made low in the hours of dawn
and set them aside along with all our pain.
We packed up our lives in empty boxes,
being left behind in this house I once called home,
spilling from the arms I once called my grace.
The dreams fluttering from their pins on the walls,
the windows fogging yet again with the memories they hold,
the floorboards creak with their cries of protest.
You box away the feel of me and mine,
as I put away the last of your touches and sighs;
We trudge away from what's left of us...
YOU ARE READING
Mostly
PoetryA murmur of the land upon which the marching band stomped on in its haunting glory . stories buried for nights that go unnoticed. mostly unnoticed.
