The effects, the mementoes

you come across when

you have the moment in which to tidy

a desk. The half forgotten

trinket, lovingly embraced in the warm light

of day and sold by candlelight to the bidder

hiding in the draw.

I found something of you,

and for a while thought of happy

memories, of the laughter once

shared and the joy it brought us,

then I remembered with sadness

the argument over nothing,

your dogma beating my stubbornness

over the head with a thick

cudgel, the pounding of insanity

in both our heads as I took exception

to damnation and you took

delight in your objectifying, myopic

thievery of Time.

 

The draw is the place for such things,

too painful

to throw away,

too beautiful to remain

in sight,

the draw is as closed off

as my emotional response;

the draw is sealed.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016