Collected

A harsh moon washes over this tiny room

illuminating the worn floor boards, accenting every ridge

holding a lifetime of worn shoes and thinning socks.

The cool night air flows through the rust stained screen, a thief

rustling past the sheer wall of curtain, dancing as clouds would

in hopes of hiding in the darkest corner.

In that corner, a chair; brittle as bones beneath January’s sky

displays the loneliness of our apartment above the vacant book shop.

And it took all the courage I had, conquering each creaking step

one by one, to this place where I once called home

which now feels empty, void of all the things we shared.

A collection of poems litter the floor, as leaves of a dying tree

her branches unable to hold her words,

begin to dry, the ink fading into a coma of dreams.

So I gather the remnants of a lifetime, one page at a time

keeping them safely hidden, guarding all my memories of you

and binding them in an album, labeled Collected.