Little house I used to live in
What have you got
When you leave it all behind?
A handful of smoke; perfume on the wind
Walking up the hill with the kids in tow
In another life
The camera bumps against my hip
Graffiti on the bus shelter
Creative urge pulling; lifting
Like a toe dipped in a fast flowing river
It chokes behind my eyes
The sadness of all those photographs
The taste so strong; so lost
Today is not enough
I cannot make it suit my needs
Cannot rescue it from the past
When you leave it all behind?
A handful of smoke; perfume on the wind
Walking up the hill with the kids in tow
In another life
The camera bumps against my hip
Graffiti on the bus shelter
Creative urge pulling; lifting
Like a toe dipped in a fast flowing river
It chokes behind my eyes
The sadness of all those photographs
The taste so strong; so lost
Today is not enough
I cannot make it suit my needs
Cannot rescue it from the past
5 comments:
Beautiful!
Thank you Zaina :]
you do poignancy masterfully; sadness and wistfulness never read so good.
darling! a confessional poem! loved it, pisces, "perfume on the wind" (sigh). xoxoxooxox
Harlequin: Sometimes the only way to overcome the nostalgia is to put it down on 'paper'
Laura: They're all confessional poems, some are just more cryptic than others :)
X-Rated Word Verification: CORNFACK (!)
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