The steady hum of overlapping hands,
Hallways thick with the echo of our names.
School bells gathered us like windswept sands,
To kitchen tables of communal claims.
The city that we built, we knocked it down;
Your side of the bed is no longer warm.
Those names are now a room I walk around;
No audience left for whom to perform.
Streetlights shine where I no longer belong,
Just one plate set at a table for ten.
I am the echo that once was a song;
Now silence settles in my inkless pen.
Written for dVerse – juxtaposition. This is a commentary on the contrast between our past and current (or future) selves.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
The Wise Don’t Have ‘Problems’
The wise person understands expectations
Knowing when to keep their mouth shut
We should listen in most situations
When we mostly do anything but….
1994ever 