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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Monday, July 14, 2014

Stairs

Behold the stairs which felt our tread
Carpet frayed and thinning
Threadbare stairs which we walked down each day
and up each night, the very way
Stairs on which our footfalls fell
Our secrets they would never tell
These stairs have seen us through our pasts
The only evidence that lasts
When voices still, when bodies' lust
of flesh and bone has turned to dust
Though wood is worn  and cloth unspun
These stairs are here and we are gone.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Number 228
and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

19 comments:

Vandana Sharma said...

Time is the eternal witness of purpose soul and we tread through different lives. A beautiful poem telling the truth of life.

Kerry O'Connor said...

This is such an intriguing image and you have brought something of the secrecy, and something of possibility in your poem.

Kathryn Dyche Dechairo said...

If stairs could talk! Really loved the pairing of image and poetry.

Susie Clevenger said...

So often the very steps we trod upon live longer than we do, but keep our secrets so well. Love the words you gave to the image.

Gillena Cox said...

i luv the history and endurance gifted to those steps. have a nice Monday

much love...

Fireblossom said...

The Conqueror Wo-- er, Stairs?

Grace said...

Here is a story of secrets, sadness and despair ~ Good one LM ~

Jinksy said...

You had the march of time climbing your stairs...

Cait O'Connor said...

Nice take, focussing on the stairs.

Arushi Ahuja said...

A lovely sing song poem... Loved the rhyming that came along...

J Cosmo Newbery said...

And what tales they can tell.

Debi Swim said...

What we leave behind... I love where this picture took you.

Kutamun said...

Amazing, haunting , plunging me into the waters of existence ....thanks

hedgewitch said...

Makes me think of those stone stairs thousands of years old where the feet of passing humans have worn hollows, soft flesh against hard stone--we come, we walk for awhile, and then another walker takes our place. Enjoyed it, LM.

Eddie Bluelights said...

If those stairs could only tell us some of their secrets . . . :) Eddie

Helena said...

Another fabulous poem, Lola, just as well stairs are mute!

Tess Kincaid said...

Sad to think architecture lasts longer than we do...

Sherry Blue Sky said...

This is so wonderfully written. I love the rhythm and rhyme....and the thought of the life those steps have seen and the secrets they know. All those legs, up and down, growing from little to big.

hassan mouse said...
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