A Memory
Pictures on the fireplace,
Photos on the wall.
Kettle boiling on the stove starting to whistle.
Cake being cut and buns being buttered.
Tea bags in a cup and sugar being stirred.
Football on the television, Hooray they scored a goal.
Creaking of the floor, me sneaking to the door.
The clock ticks and the clock tocks.
The echo of your voice calls through the halls.
The smell of butterscotch candy trickles through my nose when you open the candy jar.
The mirror standing in the hall, reflects the image of life.
The pictures begin to disappear,
The photos are packed away.
The kettle no longer whistles, no longer sits on the stove.
The cake no longer cooks, no longer is cut.
The buns remained unbuttered, it now becomes unuttered.
The tea bags sit on the shelf and the sugar sits in the jar.
The television never comes on again, never sees light again.
The football now a distant memory beginning to fade away.
The floor no longer creaks, but now I weep.
The clock doesn’t tick and does not tock.
Your voice replays in my mind, the echo of you voice doesn’t see the halls.
No smell of butterscotch, no candy in jars, no jars on the table nor the cupboard.
The mirror still stands, the mirror now reflects a blank wall.
A blank wall with out pictures and photos.
The halls are now empty, no voice or shadow sees the wall.
An empty house, an empty life.
The smell of butterscotch leaves, the photos gone, the pictures away.
The blank walls, the blank life, the blank house.
An empty life, an empty soul.
A memory, a memory that is mine and mine for me to keep, no one can take it nor touch it.
It’s mine, my memory of you.
Now you are gone, my memory still stands; the mirror still reflects our time together.
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Comments
great write and yippee you had tea congrats x
You can never lose something held in your heart because those memories are saved in the feelings section of the mind. This is a strong poem and a fine example of the progression of time. The beginning the middle and the edge of the end. I like it, Anthony
Thank-You all for your kind words, I wrote this poem a couple of months ago on the anniversary of my Great-Grandfather death, I was sitting back in his lounge room with my Aunty who now owns the house and wrote it. After we finished we went and visited his resting place, alongside my Great-Grandmother he lay, I read out the poem and halfway through I broke out into tears. As my Grandfather and Great Aunt stood by my I finished reading the poem.
Thank-You