Treasured

What is it there beneath the lid,

creaking wood of memories crypt

remembered scent and sound of days

so far gone by,

useless bric-a-brac hovering

on the edge of a thought

almost forgotten,

but not quite yet.

Are there stories in there lurking beneath dust,

has it been ages since the light has seen

these images of yellowed tattered remnants

of broken hearts and letters from loved ones

now gone into the ethereal skies

waiting without another chance to be,

or to whisper a final goodbye.

Are there fragile pieces wrapped in silk,

tucked in gently lest they break from handling,

a feather from somewhere on travels afar

or rocks in shades of mysterious caves,

reds and grays,

stacked upon books saved for rainy days,

what treasure is there

buried in your mind,

words left to find

to write,

to live a life of their own

to be shared,

to be gathered and loved.

Pieces of sea

Thoughts break carelessly
Sharp edges slide below the surface
Dreams and bits of this and that
Move into the deep
Worn down fragments remain.
Words like shells scattered
Rolling on the floor,
Drifting and dancing
Polished smooth through the years
As tides of life
Move in and out
Carried on currents
Of everyday minutes
Ticking by like
A wave lapping shore.
Skies of blue
Various shades stacked
One atop the next
As we watched the storms come and go
Surrendering to the might and beauty
Of a gift of a day
Pieces of the sea
Glass treasures found and held
In a hand like a gift
Brought home
With pockets full
Of memories.

Treasured

Words locked within
Spun tales of wonder and fantasy
Rainy day reads wait
For light.
Held in hands these phrases
Correspondence of dreams
Immersed in escape
Imagination in form.
Page after page turning
Memories surface of days passed
And trinkets of wisdom gleaned
For but a moment there again
In your words I become you.
The feelings and emotions
Of drifting moments
Stranded in the mind of bliss
The treasured chest opens to reveal
A heart left spent and drained
It’s lifeblood penned
Into the masterpiece.

To the writers who give the greatest gifts, themselves. With each story that takes our breath away, each poem that sets the soul to life, and to the muses who never stop giving of themselves…inspiration abound.