THE COLLECTOR
The first had names of months
Like a calendar of cries
Like a calendar of lies
They left me lacking, wanting more
Ran outta months so I chose days
My week of cries
My week of lies
They left me lacking, wanting more
Winter, Summer, Autumn, Spring
My seasons of cries
My seasons of lies
They left me lacking, wanting more
Thirty days hath September…April June and November
My year of cries
My year of lies
They left me lacking, wanting more.
All the rest have thirty-one
My proof of cries
My proof of lies
My book is full…I am done
Courtesy of The Web
8 comments:
Excellent, I really liked this! The older we get the more aware we become of our lives, the passing of time, what we've had and what we never have time for. Yes, too many lies and too many sighs, some bittersweet goodbyes, but then there are the other times worth remembering. :-)
my verse for your poem
my years are now at 68
the calendar months fesl like they flip daily
and i know that I want MORE
Days and months that is. I like this poem a lot, yours not mine
Well done! Loved it!
Oh, that picture gave me such a turn, and I loved the creepy twist.
;)
the days do seem to go by so very quickly!!
Oh, I liked this. How did you get so clever? I think the luxury of retirement is filling your head with all sorts of good ideas. There is creativity now where there used to be stress. The loud noises are being replaced with lovely sounding musical notes. Yes Virginia, there is life with a pension. xox
Wow, I totally was amazed at how my thoughts for this lovely piece could turn in a complete other direction once I saw the image! Very awesome read!
Holy my goodness!
This was good.
Powerful!
I really, really enjoyed this post.
I could feel the pain in the words.
Geez.
This was really a WOW for me!
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