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June 11 2009
[ Non-fiction : Poetry/ ]


A broken cup filled with silk flowers
Tells the story of whiled away hours.
A sparkling rock picked off the ground
Speaks of a path on which someone was bound.
A dried up corsage in a closet tossed;
Remnants of love in the folds now lost.
Memories from a long time ago,
Set aside and tied with pretty bows.
Memories for a receding mind
To be conjured up from time to time.
Repeating the tales of what once was,
Of how we lived and how we loved.

© amy jean
Aug. 2004
a.k.a. A. J. Angerstein
Article views: 4251

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Comments from Our Readers

  "I am not a poetry judge, but your rhyme is balanced and your thoughts coincide with your title. Good job! Continue writing!" - Jim, August 16 2009 - reply

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