Sunday, July 31, 2011


All life's sorrows,
All life's joys,
All to follow,
All destroyed.

All these memories,
had a single constant,
the stage of all those mysteries,
now; distant.

We played and we fought,
but never thought,
that this, once a house,
homeliness espoused.

This is the final day,
My home's in disarray,
Tomorrow, it'll be clean, however,
As I take my leave, forever.

This parting burdens the heart,
As I leave the key,
To my memories and depart,
The memories, the key will be.


  1. The last line is indeed the key--captures a beautiful sentiment
    Unsolicited advice: sometimes try writing in a less romantic vein, raw stuff as it occurs to you--no conscious deliberations, if you know what I mean. Just consider it.

  2. I get what you're saying. The poems I like best are exactly that, ones with little deliberation and possibly more imagination. I wrote a post on the other blog about something similar

    I'm always unprepared for the raw stuff. The lines run around in my head and go away and I procrastinate too long to write anything about it.

    I guess I've gorged way too much on Wordsworth and Coleridge, that the romanticism just flows when I deliberate :).