The phone blinks, whispers newer, better, faster.
The shoes scuff, murmur tired, old, replaceable.
The cupboard creaks, begs for emptier, shinier shelves.
But not everything broken needs new bones.
This chair holds the weight of afternoons.
This kettle hums songs of small comfort.
This sweater threads warmth through every stitch.
What do I lose when I trade them away?
My feet still know the rhythm, they don’t care.
My hands still find beauty in what they mend.
My eyes still see the sunlight, every crack.
I ask: What can I do with what I have?
Maybe I can teach this stubborn zipper patience.
Maybe I can stitch pride back into these jeans.
Maybe I can soften the ache, not erase it.
Maybe the old way was enough all along.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: December 29th, 2025 12:45
- Comment from author about the poem: #3 in the growing up in the 60's and 70's
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship
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Comments3
Well written, gray0328. Your poem revolves around the appreciation of what one already possesses, rather than succumbing to a perpetual desire for newer, better things. The subject matter explores themes of contentment, nostalgia, and the value of simple, everyday objects that hold emotional significance and memories.
Thanks for sharing your feedback
You're so welcome,
Comfort is worth more than style. A wonderful write about what we trade. Well done Gray
Thanks for sharing your feedback Soren I appreciate it
You are most welcome Gray
Exceptional!
Thanks Katie I appreciate your feedback and I'm wishing you Happy New Year
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