A Scrapbook Of Memories

A Scrapbook Of Memories short poem

Photo by nate steiner

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, mine is loss
Next, my senseless duty
To leave and never speak a word
A coat over my shoulders
I open that leadened door to the still air
The third is my work
A tireless season digging into the mountains
I gag on the stink of pine and explosives
And finally, the spirit, wrapped in black
I have no place to go
My house is four walls and a ceiling
I sit here sipping my whiskey and ice
Jingling my little ring of keys

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1 Comment on "A Scrapbook Of Memories"

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J.rid
Member

wow a sad sad poem and the view of a life bleak. I always
say the measure of a good poem for me that is
is one that stirs you inside. This one did.

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