Sometimes you find them,
Small pockets of forgotten stories,
Ethereal bubbles of old memories
Ready to burst leaving nothing but dust
To disappear with the coming of dusk.
The tales of simpler days that are no longer.
Staring at this scene you are left to wonder
How come some things that are long gone
Still has a heart beating and a song to be sung.
It’s as if the wooden bones of old houses remember.
They retain and treasure the forgotten smiles and laughters.
Where you looked and found nothing much,
I recognize the warmth of a lost touch,
Invaluable stories in fading colors, left unwritten.
Enshrined within the blemishes, hidden, forgotten.
So here I am standing, breathing,
Soaking and drowning in the waves of a Nostalgia
That shouldn’t be mine at all to recall.
– Lisa Poirier
✥ Maple & Sakura ✥
Disclaimer: All the pictures used are mine.