Sunday

December 1, 2012 at 7:15 pm (history, literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Cards, did you ever stand? Or was my brilliant house of hearts,

young fumbling fingers darting in to rebuild broken parts,

a childish and imagined thing dreamed up by chilly rooms?

Do you recall the way we played on Sunday afternoons?

.

In our separate world were marbles, and a box of dominoes,

each indent to be thumbed, the numbers nought to six in rows,

each globe a tiny planet trapped, in subtle colour rolled,

all added up when I was very young and they were old.

.

And when they called me in at last, I boxed and bagged my friends,

to leave disgruntled kings and queens and keepsies in the end.

One hand still cupped around a shell in which I hear the sea,

I peer through dust of lemon cake washed down with grown-up tea.

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3 Comments

  1. iamforchange said,

    I like the depth and feeling expressed it resonates the pain and the gain of life and the realization of self. Thank you for sharing your heart through your art!

please feel free to comment on these poems - all feedback appreciated. :)

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