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As the musky scent
of incense burns away,
I wander from room
to icy room
filled with a fragrant sense
that riches must be found
under our memory box,
in dusty corners,
between the family albums
and tattered story books.
I remember you as a child
and redecorate your preciousness
with splashes of paste
from a brand new bucket
and together we hang the rolls of
flowery paper love
you always wished for.
You, far more than humor, had an immune superefficiency.
Never fear. The pharmaceutical industry will try to convince my inspired creativity isn't the real me writing. Why, without them I might be a nonsensical troll dwelling under a bridge braising other members and eating them for dinner... xxx
Nice description of the house you lived in as a child. It reminds me of how I felt years ago when I went into the building I lived in when I was very young just months prior to it being demolished.
You should consider making a collection of your poetry if you haven't already. It is as good as anything I've read recently by poets who get their works published and placed in libraries.
Did I ever formally crown you queen of the kitchen sink metaphor? X
yes you did Jerry but its a bit tarnished now...x