How the familiar fades away
Becomes like a stain from a cup
Raindrops evaporate
A circle of mineral and dust the only trace
A bruise on my hand
When I saw it
felt it
held it
tasted it
I knew what it was
Now familiar is only
memory of what was
vision of what could be again
sound of footsteps leaving a room
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1 comment:
you read my mind, with your last comment. you acuratly described how my whole week has felt
this poem is beautiful
i love the image of familiarity becoming a stain.
and a vision of what could be again.
because when something is familiar, it becomes comforting and, wether we should or should not, part of us still wants it back.
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