Hour 9

Inside a box of silence

A part of me, deep under

disorderly seas of forgotten items


The winds of summer blow and

the lights shine the box within


My last thought awaits me in a box

I’ve left in a dark, damp room

One thought on “Hour 9

  1. I can travel through this poem since I am going through all the stuff collected over 30+ years of marriage. The last line ‘disorderly seas of forgotten items’ resonates with me in a real way. This poem touches me in ways no one else can know.

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