How sad that may be,
how he fell from the shirt's grip
and hit the carpet.
And now, not carried to be picked up,
but instead, stepped on.
How he's alone with gray,
and all he feels is pain.
How he feels he's been pushed around,
nothing looks like it did
when he was first placed.
How unusual a concept,
but I can relate to everything—
the lost button.
On the move,
being kicked from room to room,
never lifted to be used,
but being grounded into the carpet,
with the yarn taking hold of him,
sunk between
all the dirt and agony.
The life of a lost button.
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Author:
A.N. (
Offline) - Published: August 20th, 2026 10:09
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
- Users favorite of this poem: Fränz Müller
Offline)
Comments2
Personified and surreal it takes on a life of its own. Nicely written
Thank you!
You are most welcome A.N.
It’s amazing how much we can have in common with inanimate objects sometimes…
Indeed, it is
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