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Shawn Jones Poem
In the quiet corners of forgotten rooms,
whispers of faces blur in the shadows,
their stories tangled in the dust,
roots that reach out but never touch.
Names like echoes, flit and fade,
unfamiliar laughter tickles the air,
yet the hearth remains cold,
as I sift through memories unmade.
The family tree, a skeletal frame,
branches twisted, unraveling tales,
I am a wanderer on an unseen path,
searching for kin in a web of silence.
Each photograph, a stranger’s gaze,
a fleeting glimpse of a life unknown,
and I trace the lines of their smiles,
wondering where my own might fit.
In this tapestry of absence,
I weave my hopes, my dreams,
a patchwork of belonging,
as I stitch together my own identity.
The heart craves connection,
a bond forged in shared seams,
but here I stand,
alone in the echo of “who are we?”
Yet, in the searching,
I find fragments of myself,
pieces that shimmer in the dark,
a light that warms my uncharted soul.
Though the roots may scatter,
and the names may remain unsaid,
I am here,
a branch of possibility,
reaching out
to the family I have yet to know.
Copyright © Shawn Jones | Year Posted 2025
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