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The Things I Never Buried
I never buried certain names,
They lingered like a scent in air.
I whispered them through window panes
And found them waiting everywhere.
I never buried childhood roads—
The ones I walked with bleeding knees.
They live inside the softest odes
And bloom like ghosts among the trees.
I never buried what she said
The night the silence broke our bed.
Her voice still echoes in my head,
Unwritten prayers the night once read.
I never buried shoes I wore
When running from a younger pain.
They sit beside my closet door,
Still damp from unforgotten rain.
I never buried notes I wrote
And never dared to send or burn.
Each line a stone that tried to float,
Each word a wish that wouldn’t learn.
I never buried dreams that died—
They wandered off but never left.
They knock at dusk and slip inside,
Polite reminders of my theft.
I never buried those regrets
That crept beneath my cleanest days.
They hum in keys I won’t forget
And follow me in quiet ways.
I never buried parts of me
That cracked but somehow chose to stay.
They hold the light I couldn’t see
And guide me when I lose my way.
And though I’ve tried to dig and hide,
The past is soil that doesn’t keep.
The things I never said goodbye
Still plant their roots when I can’t sleep.
Copyright ©
Vohn Redulla
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