|
In The End
by Philip F De Pinto
All we have
Are the pictures
And the grief
To remind us
That life's a brief spin
On the turntable
Though it behave like an LP
An unredeemable loan
An ache and a moan
To churn neath the milestone
Herds of sheep like suns
Grinning for the camera
At every turn
And what lay behind the grins
Well never know
Though we prosecute
Photos to tell us
In the tipsied end
All I have of 100% proof
That she ever held loving court
Neath my roof
Are the closets rich
And full of her clothing
None of which fit
Which I have difficulty dispensing with
How they chime like bells
Played close to the vest
Her peculiar musical strains and smells
Which I savor to my breast
Or don in the grips
Of a devastating despair
And how they tickle like brick
The strands of hair
Still clinging to the fabric
08/12/2018 Posted on 08/12/2018
Copyright © 2024 Philip F De Pinto
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Clara Mae Gregory on 08/13/18 at 01:18 AM This is a well written stellar example of poetry that provokes an emotional tapestry of memories universal yet unique to us all. Reading this brought tears to my eyes. |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 08/14/18 at 09:50 AM Well worded, heartbreaking expression, Phlip. Love the opening stanza and how it sets the reader up for what follows. |
|
