The bevelled
Wood frame
Of the mirror
Remains
Its glass
Shattered
And pained
Memories claimed.
The hands
Of the timepiece
Stuttered
And died
Shines on
The cheek
Tears cried
And defined.
The old
Christmas angel
Ragged
And worn
Fades
Ever distant
Beyond
Our recall.
-
Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Online) - Published: March 7th, 2026 03:05
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Online)
Comments2
This leaves a definite image branded in the brain and a feeling in the heart. It is metaphoric in a sense of self blindness due to past injury now stuck in the mind where once was a warm fondness now only dust remains and is gradually covering it all together. May well be wrong on this one's intent but that is how it struck me. Very nice and a fave
yes it regards the passing of time and those lost upon the way, thanks for read and as always much appreciated
You are most welcome
Good write N. Do you do as I do - leave a fire burning on Christmas Eve night? That'll teach Santa not to come down the chimney and fill the lounge with soot! lol.
hes always late, he gets the no 7 bus lol
Oh lol. I hate Christmas mornings. Have to spend it clearing up the lounge, as it's always full of soot. How come some fat beardy bloke can get down the chimney? lol.
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