the missing song

Tentative steps taken
toward a room thought to be forgotten.
Strangely they could still remember
where everything was
the day they left. The chipped vase
tucked away on the corner table,
standing proudly
though drowned in dust. Or the painting
of a bouquet of roses
on the kitchen wall, though tilted,
still bleeding red.

What was missing was the mellifluous
sound of songbirds,
once perched on the window,
now covered by total silence
as if seeing no point
in singing another love song.


© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved


3 thoughts on “the missing song”

  1. Great description of returning to that place where love no longer exists. Even the song birds see no point. Your poetry punches.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. This is true. We can run away from the physical spaces but the mental ones are with us forever. You are welcome!

        Liked by 1 person

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