“Residue Map”
I used to scrub the beaker clean—
no trace, no stain,
no memory.
But now I leave the rings,
the faint clouding
where reaction met restraint.
You call it careless.
I call it proof
that something happened
and didn’t vanish.
Even the silence
left a watermark.
.
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 27th, 2025 05:03
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 18
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, Fína Elara 🌙 Petra Patrice
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Comments6
nice write
Thanks Norman! Have an excellent weekend 🙏🏻🕊️
you too
🤩👍🏻
Here in metaphor or allegory a great lesson. Markers need to be left. So many missing pieces in history of individuals, societies, the race itself. So many lost poetic thoughts not written and preserved. What marks do we leave for those to come? I am afraid in this technological age of electronic recording that all might be lost. A most lovely and poignant write Cryptic
Probably an inner concern surfacing just as you expounded. There must be some marking that we can do! 🕊🙏🏻
The ancients more wise wrote on stone. You are most welcome my friend
ah, but the way we use stones these days and what we do to them... oh my, what a thought & possibility!
This is quiet testimony...rings, stains, and silence all becoming proof of what’s lived. That final watermark line seals it. Subtle, resonant, and beautifully written, as always my poetic friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Oh yes, the watermarks in all our lives! Thanks, Tittu🙏🏻🕊️
Those watermarks of life are always there for us to remember those times Rik.
Andy
Indeed, thanks, Andy 🙏🏻🕊️
Using laboratory glassware and residue as a metaphor for memory, experience, and lasting impact is innovative and poignant. Lines like “Even the silence left a watermark” are particularly striking. Nicely written.
Many thanks Fina🙏🏻🕊️
A wonderful write. Love the last lines.
Hey Tom, thanks 🙏🏻🕊️
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