Without a box
But in a suitcase
Wrapped in bubblewrap
And hid
Theres a ring
Of little value
From a past life
A closed lid.
As years advance
Time runs out
Now alone
A widows voice
That never speaks
Of a boy she knew
With sparkling eyes
When love was new.
Sometimes in dream
She feels his touch
A melancholy
Of dreamy lust
But she awakens
To her day
Her husband gone
But words they stay.
-
Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: October 19th, 2026 02:25
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 54
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, arqios, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments6
Good write N. Did you 'ring' (phone) to ask where that bus was?! lol.
The said it shouldnt be long, as if lol
I could feel the nostalgia, romance, hole left by loss, melancholy, shadow of the past in this poem. Nicely written Norman a fave
Most kind, thanks and appreciation my friend
My pleasure Norman
Most touching my friend! A true fave. 🤩👍🏻🕊️
thanking you always much appreciated
Most welcome as ever 👍🏻🙏🏻🕊️
Words locked away in a memory box...
thanks for read my friend, always much appreciated
Damn, Norman. You've got me thinking about how little we sometimes know of the people closest to us. Even after decades together, there may be entire chapters of someone's life we've never heard about. That's a rather sobering thought, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
much appreciated my friend, thanking you
Well written. The sadness and melancholy are depicted nicely 👍
thanking you, much appreciated
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