A Tomb For Plywood
by John Herzog
you were familiar,
familiar like the stone and the grass
on which we strolled so cautiously
as our eyes met
for the first time in years.
And on that foundation
we managed to build new smiles
from the plywood of fond memories,
and then we climbed onto the roof
to look up at the sky
and laugh away the evening hours.
But somewhere between the ages,
we tore down the home we shared,
and I don't know this land anymore;
so I cry out into the distant hills,
only to be met with the taunting echo
of my voice shouting your name.
There will be silence now,
for I can no longer bear to hear it.
I won't waste my voice here,
in what's now just a moor
of decaying patience and hope,
where I shall bury my plywood to rest.
Author's Note: It was with anguish that I wrote this.
Posted on 12/25/2009
Copyright © 2021 John Herzog
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Sarah Wolf on 12/26/09 at 01:26 AM|
This has the feel of a subconscious dream. I like it.
|Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 01/03/12 at 04:38 PM|
there is much to gather here. if a horse is led here, he will not think about it, just drink of the plenitude. and if he's lucky, even sate his thirst.