My Uncle's Library
By alesana
'Twas a windowseat by the wall
where I used to lay my small
body
down upon the pillows soft.
Sweet sunbeams illuminated
dust
and debris fluttering,
wreathing my neck, causing
my eyes to
sparkle bright,
cringing e'er so slight.
'Twas shelves and stacks,
withered leather litter,
worn from years of love and attention
followed by decades of sheer neglect.
'Twas my hands light and trembling,
uncov'ring new escapes -
adventures into other lands.
'Tis
all of this still ling'ring
upon my finger tips.
Outside are
buyers waiting
to place their mindless bids
for all my uncle's
things -
his joys, his solace, his private temple -
those familiar
polished desks,
the books which we so loved.
And saved for last,
sold for less, in my mind, than
'twas worth for all those memories
-
sold for naught but a piece of my heart
that windowseat by
the wall.
Comments on "My Uncle's Library"
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On Saturday, October 1, 2011, whisperingwalls
(210) wrote:
A man who does not read lives only one live, while the reader lives a thousand. A sad well written tale.
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On Saturday, October 1, 2011, haunted
(837) wrote:
this strikes me that his collection has history, and memories. only to be more or less given away with no appreciation for the value of such memories. i enjoyed this alesana. maybe one day your poems will be treasured by family they call aunt alesana!