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Hey Hey

Oct 23, 2004, 01:16 AM

Past World

A pile of crushed, faded roses
Now dried
Remains on your dresser
I can still smell the bouquet
And see the pinkness charm your neck
As they gradually turn to dust

The small shoes sit in the dark corner
Pointing outwards
Neatly, as ever
I can see them dancing in the moonlight
Now they lie still and cold
As frozen dew drops in the winter morning

Loose brown strands
Fall from the side of the brush
Onto white lace
As though you had just stroked your hair
In front of the mirror
And turned for bed

My hand passes through yours
As we chatter
Silently
Eye looking to eye
But seeing the distance
And the vision of our past world

Â©2004 Hey Hey

Shawn R

Oct 23, 2004, 04:57 PM

the persistance of memory...

...to the hearts evanescence

+Steven Curtis Lance

Oct 23, 2004, 05:07 PM

So magically evocative, so visual, and so stimulating to my own memory do I find this poem that I think it is one of your very best ever, one of the best on these pages or on any anywhere.

Hey Hey

Oct 24, 2004, 03:34 AM

Thanks for reading and your kind comments.

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