Scrapbook

Scrapbook short poem

The story of her life began with him,

Coming up to her he brought in the love scene,

Everything had been so picture perfect,

It seemed straight out of a silver screen..!

The photographs of that era brings,

Tears in her eyes when she takes a look,

All her memories of all her moments,

Stuck on the pages of a scrapbook..!!

She thought she had found her man,

So she went on and held his hand,

She won over his heart and soul,

She knew he would listen and understand..!

Time passed on smooth for a while,

He used to take her to her high,

The love they shared was special,

He even wrote I LOVE YOU on the sky..!!

She still remembered the places,

The cafes and the malls he took,

For all her memories where there,

Stuck on the pages of a scrapbook..!

Changes in things took its toll on him,

The only thing he thought was suicide,

He didn’t even give her a chance to see,

It was at her work she knew that he died..!!

His last picture beside the wooden cross,

And she stood there facing all,

Her eyes still moist with tears,

Sobbing all she heard inside that large hall..!

She closed down her memories,

Only to glance down and take a look,

For all her moments were now just left,

Stuck on the pages of a scrapbook..!!

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Rocean Sharma

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
Life has its hardships, But it goes on.. doesn't wait for anything, nor lets memories be easily gone...! Poems are the only way, to let all the feelings out... to seek for the meaning, that everyone is talking about...!! So enjoy life, and enjoy the poems... and embrace life, no matter what comes...!!
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

2 Comments on "Scrapbook"

Notify of
avatar
Sort by:   newest | oldest
Editorial Board
Member

So sad and heart wrenching..

wpDiscuz

A Scrapbook Of Memories

A Scrapbook Of Memories short poem

A storm cracks it’s thunder at me I look out to the faded death of night I’ve made myself a scrapbook of memories First is the woman, in dim gravure She throws her clothes at strangers Her life is loneliness,