Untitled Ii
Corner, corner
Full of cobwebs,
Lies a jar of dust,
Full of memory and emotion:
Happiness and lust.
Corner, corner
In this old home,
Lies the dust of past,
A bitter kick-up of this stuff,
Will bring the pain back fast.
Corner, corner
Caked with grime,
Houses the jar of dust,
Which in turn houses the memory:
To remember is a must.
Corner, corner
Etched in time,
By blowing winds of change,
There lies the broken jar of dust:
Where specks of it now lay.
And now we watch as this dust dies,
It leaves us solemn; tears in eyes.
And wait until another comes,
A memoir made of dust.
Copyright © Forrest Wieseckel | Year Posted 2010
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