The Rusted Heart
I finger the small curved shape of
The charm that hangs from the chain
That you left sitting on your dressing table.
It's silver casing is fading and the
Transient glitter that once caught the light
Has gone.
The red appeared from that night
We sat in the rain together
Reading each others thoughts.
I thread it through my fingers
And try to remember your face
And how you looked with it hanging from your neck.
Turning to face your mirror I see you.
I look around the room we shared our childhood in
And the charm is hard and cold.
The rust envelopes me as the heart tries to float in those tears.
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading a chapter in the poem
A few lines about God. This chapter
was posted on Nov 30, 2009 by
Briony.
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