Aging Hands

Strings of light shine on faces that hang
In the shadows that darken the walls,
And an echo of voices vibrates
In the ominous dank of the halls.

Specks of dust fall on tables and chairs
Long grown cold from the stark solitude.
Apathy sits curled up in the dark;
Head slumps over in a solemn mood.

Aging hands flip through old memories,
Photographs from a time long ago,
Lives and loves from the days that are passed,
All the close friends that I used to know.

And of all, I alone now remain,
Clinging to what I had once before.
And my memories pool in a tear
That falls into the dust on the floor.


© JMariah, 2011

I Thought Of An Old Flame Last Night

This poem came to me just as I lay down to sleep. It was tugging at me so hard, I had to get right back out of bed again to write it down. I'll have to work on it in the morning.

Memories

I lay my unclad body down upon my open bed,
the gentle whispering of a spinning fan
blowing against my skin.
And I think of you.
I close my eyes and remember you
touching me in the memories
that dance around in a time
far behind me.
And I ache
to drag you into my room,
or to go back to meet you
where you are.

Read more poems by JMariah