I heard my poetry
It was thrown
Into the waste bin
At the hospice home
Forty years
With venom and hate
Revenge no forgiveness
A written fate.
In old age now
Your beauty gone
But a poet remembered
Your shining sun
The smile you bore
Your deep kind heart
The day you left
To make a new start.
Life is cruel
It reflects our pain
What I suffered
Now you gain
Not in payback
I hold no blame
I merely remember
When Summer came.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: March 12th, 2026 02:02
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 27
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
Good write N. Erm, I never threw out any of your poems! heehee.
Why you looking in the dustbin, they ask me - you retrieving N's poems that others threw out?! lol.
I have threw a few out over the years and wish I had kept them lol
Oh dear lol
It is the haunting feeling that accompanies the last lines of this poem that make it for me. So nicely composed its rhyme and meter and wording make it powerful in its feigned weakness. Such a great metaphor in the waste bin. Lovely and a fave
Thanking you for kind comments as always much appreciated
You are most welcome Norman
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