Heir
The house of my life
Is rotted and cracked.
The floorboards are warped,
And all of my broken windows
Welcome wind.
But from the rubble,
I’ll piece out a coat,
Made from my very best pieces and shards.
Patches of carpets that came from Tibet,
And the spiderweb strands of a once regal drape.
Cupped like an egg in a frothy current of days,
You, my bird, my bud, my tuft of fuzz and light,
Inherit this coat of broken things,
Something more meager than a manger,
But sewn from all the love wrung
From a wasted life.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
