I slowly navigate down our flights of stairs
pondering the mystery that lies at the bottom.
The mystery of objects left….
Yesterday a bag filled of clothes
Last week a frying pan, a playpen
Today, will it be a pile of books
or a set of towels?
What random object has been left beside the door?
Where did it come from?
Where is it to go?
I wonder who leaves these objects and why?
Truly, I don’t really want to know.
I want the mystery, the secret
to continue intriguing me.
These random objects left beside the door
each have a story, a lost history
a tale I am free to imagine just
how I want it to be.
The objects we have all left behind
a pair of glasses, a pink sweater
significant or trivial
forgotten or missed
they are pieces to our story
pieces of life we have all left behind.
I almost forgot…
What random object has been left beside the door?
Today, a stack of old dishes.
5 comments:
random stuff needing a home! nice post!
Wow, I identified with that. Only now, most of what I find are dog toys. Great poem.
beautiful reminders.
thanks for the treat.
This is so true! Each object left behind is never really random, is it? It all exists for a purpose, it has some meaning...it has a story of its own, and it makes a small part of our story as well! Like now, it made a part of your poem, and our reading... how cool is that! This was a very interesting read, River.. Very reflective sorta...
Thanks for sharing this with poetry potluck... a treat indeed!
River,
I think I have read it before and liked it that time too...
ॐ नमः शिवाय
Om Namah Shivaya
Twitter @VerseEveryDay
http://shadowdancingwithmind.blogspot.com
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