Nails
and Rust
The windows in the shops on the streets of where she once lived,
harbored pieces of her life she had given away for free; the shopkeepers knew
not their value, for there they sold for mere pennies
An old silver picture frame that once held the images of the
ones she loved, now lying in a box with nails and rust
An antique desk handed down from hands of generations past,
and from one of who would never again trace words on paper; now, pushed against
a wall covered in trinkets, the deep hues of grain had given up their beauty
long ago from lack of care
Her bed once covered in fine linens and lace, sat with legs
broken and scarred, abandoned to hold boxes of books and throw-a-ways; it had
once been a sanctuary for her to dream
Smaller, and precious
pieces strewn throughout the dust covered shelves and floors, lay helplessly
waiting for her return, to rescue them from their misery
She felt her heart breaking over again as she pushed her
chaffed hands into the pockets of the overly worn coat she now clung to, and
was all she had left; her clothes faded and paper thin, offered little warmth
from the cold air that chilled her bones, shoes that encased her feet were
battered from the constant roaming from window to window; street to street to
revisit the memories of the life she had given away; until they too were gone
It was sad she knew,
of what her life had become, for there had been a time when she had it all, and
given all to those of whom she had loved
She expected nothing
in return, the pain in her heart reminded her, nothing was offered, and had
been her reward
Time takes all and
leaves little, except perhaps for the trinkets that are left behind, or
carelessly thrown into the dust covered boxes filled with nails and rust
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