Pressed Away
Rubbing them together
I looked at my Palms.
They appeared to be real
But who can tell.
Many dreams appear to be real.
They sat upon dusty shelves
whispering to each other
in the gloom of the airless room.
they appear to be alive.
But who can tell? Dolls, alive?
They bloomed in rich tones.
Magenta and vibrant aqua marine.
A Pungent scent on the breeze?
A golden sun pours blinding over all.
Who can tell? Silken flowers with scents?
I watched as they carried me away
I saw My mama cry. My Father and I
stood there under the trees unseen.
I tried to stay. I wanted to shout.
No one could tell. He said it was my time.
It had come my time to move on.
My time to be replaced in this world.
For each of us are but a wrinkle In time.
No one could see. No one could tell.
I was, as All wrinkles are, pressed away.
Copyright © Patricia Sawyer | Year Posted 2008
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