The Box Where Remembrances Are Kept
On its plinth, behushed, at hall's end
Beneath clock, coaxed backwards
Privet-pungent, in its own
Sighed out thin light's regard.
At day's sagging end, dredging up
More dust, shuffling, each nears
Its emotional-responsive charge.
As with priest's holy fears.
Filling up for yore, propelled rough
Perpetual mud, that was
So light held what were golden times!
So thoughtless, a gemmed mass.
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.
