Letters In The Attic
Lost in two different worlds
never to meet in person or time;
you belong to the distant past
as I belong to what is mine.
Connecting only through letters,
that you wrote when you were young.
You wrote them to another
before my life had begun.
As I sit here in this dusty attic,
surround by mem'ries of the ages,
I read each one so fervently
turning the yellowed dried pages.
You shared a love, tis true,
with a woman of considerable worth.
She became your eternal wife,
and to my mother, she gave birth.
It's true I never knew you.
I wish that I had been there
when you courted my grandmother
and gave her combs for her hair.
Holding the one that's left in my hand,
I am touched by this token of love.
Its pearls are forever gone missing
but not the velvet white dove.
The dove sits proudly upon the crest
with wings once flaked with gold,
telling me of a woman's black hair,
and how, down her back, it flowed.
A precious piece is tangled
woven between the broken teeth.
I touch it ever so gently
overcome with sorrow and grief.
As the tears fall from my eyes
and kiss the pages I'm reading,
I realize that your bond was strong;
t'was never waning or fleeting.
How I wish that I could find you
in a man that would love me so sweetly.
I want to live my life with one
who could love me so completely.
Alone in life, as I am now,
sitting in this place of yesteryear,
I yearn for someone to give me combs
to adorn my raven-black hair.
Kathy Lockhart
6/17/06
Poetry by Kathy Lockhart
Read 1109 times
Written on 2006-06-17 at 05:55
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