Every day you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and glory of the climb. - Sir Winston Churchill

My Father's Memory Library

Awaiting 2 more ratings...

A grand hall presents its finest sequel, Diffuses it in the ambiance. Each dent, each cleft, each mark of nostalgia, expressed through exhales and wrinkled smiles. My father's library: a sepia haze like Alice, a memory, not a dream. How I long to perceive your faded pages, to delve in your wood pulp, breathe it in.  An intangible ghost, it does not see me yet it wavers above me, teases and taunts like a sisterly love or an agitated mother, like a childhood song, thick and warm. But with melted maps and fragmented fictions comes a cold truth - released by inebriation. A man lost at sea, his hard ships engulf him So he drowns the pages. Nowhere to be seen.

© Keely


You have to be a registered user to be
able to post comments to poetry.

Register Today!

If you already have an account, log in to post a comment.

Please be patient while we go looking for comments...