Abandoned people
Lost themselves, in hollow houses
wandering existences now marked with pain
Visible to the eyes of those who have walked that path
- choices -
wounded, left behind, forgotten and replaced
Antique stores of sorts, filled with memories, feel
Shelf after shelf displaying moments from a past
Picked through, by the lovers, looking for a deal
without the skill to navigate - making them last
Hollow are the hearts we placed upon the shelves
shallow are the pools in which they drown
Never took the chance to really know themselves
lessons learned too late, are taken to account
About the Creator
Kelli Sheckler-Amsden
Telling stories my heart needs to tell <3 life is a journey, not a competition
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More stories from Kelli Sheckler-Amsden and writers in Poets and other communities.
Spectating
I can't imagine dying like this, in a place like this; on a cold, dirty pavement with rush hour traffic screaming by and a crowd looking on while paramedics struggle to find space to move. Who could? Deep down we all think there should be a reason, a moment of clarity... or a family presence, at least. For this man, this boy, the rail thin woman lighting a cigarette in a faux fur jacket will have to do - she's been here since the start, her eyes tracking the movement of my shoulders as we fight to keep him on the right side of the line.
By S. A. Crawford6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (5)
Antique stores with hollow hearts on the shelves. Sounds about right. Quite evocative, Kelli. This one feels personal.
This was so sad but it's the truth! Very well done!
Oh the stories that antiques could tell.... beautiful
What a wonderful poem.
Love the antique store analogy.