"THE POETRY OF THINGS" IS A PAGE DEDICATED TO CHRONICLING THE BEAUTIFUL STORIES BEHIND THE THINGS WE CHERISH. IT FEATURES THE POETRY OF OUR MATERIAL POSSESSIONS - THE REASONS WHY WE PUT SUCH VALUE IN THESE KEEPSAKES WE TREASURE.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Wasn't It Good?

Love has been good to me:
the words you pasted inside
proved prophetic, for you.

You gave me this years ago:
one of your little gifts.
We were moving on back then.

I smile at how happy you are now.
Things have worked for you beautifully.

(I still wait for it to be good to me)

Posted by The Poetry of Things :: 6:04 AM ::
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Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Glow in the Dark

The only gift you ever gave me was
your pink glow-in-the-dark bracelet
that shone brightly on that cold
December night of music.

It was a token of our secret -
a secret that was not meant to be.
I kept it linked with mine, hidden in a box,
hidden from the world.

And it lost its glow and warmth with each passing day
Until what remains are two linked plastic rings -
dull, cold, and unfeeling.

Posted by The Poetry of Things :: 12:08 AM ::
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Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Chuck Taylors

For having played witness
to that night of near-death madness,
you will always remind me: never again.

In your ruin beyond repair,
your lesson still echoes clear:
"LOVE, of course -
BUT NEVER TOO MUCH."


Posted by The Poetry of Things :: 1:12 AM ::
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Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Ode to a Muse

I used to think that the sea is an enormous monster waiting to engulf me.
But as I study your photograph:
the cascading waves of your hair,
your sunkissed skin,
and your beauty so immense,
I realize that I want to stay adrift -
lost in the vast ocean of your eyes.

Posted by The Poetry of Things :: 8:19 AM ::
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Monday, April 7, 2008

Secret Lovers

Lovers get rings and get married;
We're secret lovers.
We get necklaces instead.
We live apart and have separate romances.
Then we talk about it:

broken hearts, and second chances.

Posted by The Poetry of Things :: 8:30 AM ::
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Paperworks, Coffee, Cigarettes, and Pizza

Coffee, packs of Marlboro reds, and convenience store pizza by our side...
I suppress all the bliss I feel, wishing that I could hold on to this fleeting happiness a bit longer.

And it was just a lazy afternoon of cramming paperworks for you.

Posted by The Poetry of Things :: 7:22 AM ::
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