It was a long time ago, long before I could know
Of obsolescence
Ancestry; old books with stories that now collect dust
Of romance and history, once new with gleeful shine turned to rust
Quieted, berries of passion red, saddened blue
They will say the golden times had every hue
Knitted and depicted on inwrought tapestries for you
To remember
Old letters as reminders, the ink has settled where it once ran
As souls do when they have found their peace long after their laughter
Old photographs of places and people that no longer stand
Put in cardboard boxes in the attic to never be seen after
Along with lovingly knitted sweaters that now belong to nobody
With no one left to answer back to an impromptu
P.S
I love you
The windows we run to have an e-mail, no more rocks or Juliette
Or night time runaways who whisper sweetly in secret
The amazons we explore for thrills give us knitted sweaters
With no love… and no place to really go in gloomy weather
No meaning, n’or past or future it can hardly be a present
When we pull the plug, there will be nothing that remains
Of our lives or anything we’ve touched
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