In the cool of the evening, tears falling from her eye, a repertoire
of memories, she has gathered through the years,
within.
The list she has compiled collecting cobwebs and dust, her favorite
images…
An oil painting revealing a portrait of her when she was a child
and forever young…
Photographs enclosed within an antique picture frame,
handwritten notes and letters, dreams
she had dreamed in black
and white
Old, vinyl record covers, pocket watches, and old wooden
treasure boxes filled with gold and silver
heart-shaped
lockets…
She wept as she continued counting tears, the images she reviewed
shown in a panoramic view,
the handwritten letters and notes as she turned page after page;
memoirs of her sorrows and regrets, the secrets
she secretly
kept
within a leather-bound diary, she kept well hidden beneath her bed…
She wept for the living and for the dying and dead,
the ones she had remembered,
the ones she had forgotten.
She wept the tears each and every one of them might have wept,
but were too weak, too…
The ones who would not, the ones who chose not to;
their tears she kept within a box for future
reference.
During the night, in the dark, she took a breath of air
and paused before she sighed…
She had inadvertently touched a memory, a tear, which had fallen
from her eye….
she was lost in time, a dream she had dreamed, a response
to a moment she had forgotten, a voice she had heard
within her sleep, whispering from the past,
a candle’s flame flickering, a shadow dancing on her bedroom wall.
With her hand, she reached out. A loving smile, a glass of red wine,
a boutique of roses, beside a silken napkin, lie…
She remembered breathing in the rose’s alluring fragrance…
She touched an image within a photograph…
Silently she cried.
Grey sky; falls a gentle rain. She, within her, darkened shuttered
room remembering memories; each and everyone, a tear,
her fears, the ones, once held dear.
And the ones she longed
to forget.
Upon her nightstand, a candle remains unlit…
This is where shadows roam
within the dark.
This is where whispers are heard within her nightmare’s dream,
This is where she needs to be alone. Emotionless is she;
Her stark reality, the secrets she chooses
to keep are always tearing
at her soul.
Within her darkened, shuttered room, she is reaching for a clock
whose second hand has stopped. A moment of time she
has lost,
A dream which will never be
dreamed,
A breath of air she could
not breathe.
weeps while gazing at her looking glass. She traces the contours
of her face, her shape…
She notices how much she has aged. She counts the years;
the moment was taken from her life. In the dark,
she has closed her
eyes…
She
shudders,
and feels her broken heart and wonders how is one to heal.
How is one to pray;
she kneels
and
silently count her tears. One, two, three, four and shuts the door.
Beyond her window’s pane, a star falls. She gazes at her four walls
and counts the empty picture frames…
She cannot remember when
she lost them
all,
only their names remain, So hard to take, again she prays.
Beyond her window’s pane, another star falls.
Upon her nightstand lay a handwritten note;
She reads every written word. She feels
the sorrow, the pain, the rage…
She wants the night to end; a new day to begin…
The second hand of the clock moves again.
Another moment has passed, another moment will stop,
and she will have remembered
them all
About James Sterling
James began writing at 13, and he has published about 12500 pages of poetry on Facebook! He retired from work at the age of 62.
James is proud to share that he never edits what he has written, which is the beauty of his writing!!
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