An old, forgotten book on the shelf,
Its pages worn, its spine a shell,
Once full of life, of tales untold,
now gathering dust, both young and old.
The cover cracked the words erased,
Memories of joy now laid to waste.
The pages whisper, but no one hears,
a voice once strong,now drowned in years.
Its stories fade, its purpose lost,
A silent witness to time's cost.
No hand will open, no eyes will see,
the empty echoes of what used to be.
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Author:
kenny (
Offline) - Published: February 8th, 2025 09:28
- Category: Spiritual
- Views: 26
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy, RSM0812
Offline)
Comments4
I enjoyed reading this, it does apply to a book but i think it also applies to how some people treat the elderly generation in our society, well written
The delicious rhythmic flow of this pretty number drizzles it down the page effectively rendering a haunting reality. Excellently rendered until I can see the ghost of a soul standing nakedly in the mists, reaching for-- imagery capably delineating a poignantly haunting misery. Thank you for sharing.
Great write
This is my favorite write today by far. Great work. Perfect rhyming scheme. You can't ask for much more from a poem.
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