In the sandbox of my memory
reasons come and go
Castles worn in corners scorned
left without a moat
Granulated laughter
idle unreleased
Waiting for a last return
covered over deep
The jungle gym sits dormant
a mass of rusted links
One ring missing ladder gone
the rope swing short and kinked
The teeter totter frozen
its pivot rusted tight
The sliding board a one-way trip
fading into night
The sandbox of my memory
where feelings go to die
My childhood friends whose echo’s rend
timeless bye and bye
Still one last voice is buried
deep within the grains
The one I shunted until now
—calling out my name
(The New Room: August, 2022)
-
Author:
Kurt Philip Behm (
Offline) - Published: August 3rd, 2022 09:05
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
Offline)
Comments2
longing
makes for a cruel, serenade
its echoes, echo
with every step we take...
(so well written, like a prelude chapter
in a character driven novel
made me empathise within the firsts stanza
such a lovely read, thank you!)
Very kind of you and deeply appreciated.
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