Okay..
I still have my dad's army knife,
That carved letters into an old tree.
Photos hanging on the wall,
Saying what there was to see.
Postcards in a drawer,
From the past I've dreamt,
Written down memories,
Scribbled over and over,
From trying to figure out what they meant.
A guitar pick,
That's been held by so many hands,
Rhymes and words and sayings,
Only I could understand.
Silence and laughs,
Dreams and jokes,
Late night conversations,
And the mornings where we awoke.
Evenings with my Grand Dad,
Knowing they were probably close his last,
The songs he played on his harmonica,
Making a melody out of his dark past.
Worn down sweat shirts,
The burn from fingertips,
Tears sharing scars,
And things I could never forget.
Lay to rest,
Or sail far far away,
I'm still holding on too tight,
And saying I'm nothing but okay..
-Victoria Marie
YOU ARE READING
Still The Same
PoetryIn the world of ink, I have lost myself. And now for the readers of the land, I have sworn my oath to pledge my words to all. I have now found my place, and this is where I'll stay. So even after all I have been through.... I'm Still The Same. *All...
