Mars

Circlet of tarnishes in the metal
Device of destruction
And to bring down game
Stock marred with scratches
The wear of use by one now gone
Beating of treks in wood an field
Corrosion the price of long use
Those little circles of tarnish
Forming a pattern of no meaning it seems
Just rust on a device unkept
While to others, those marks
Might me be the last trace
Of the one that owned that device
Before it was passed forward
To one those marks of the fingers
Mean more that the device
Which others think they mar

A strand of hair
Left in a brush
Different in call than the rest
Lighter and longer
Clearly not of the same source
Standing out from the dark discards
It would make no sense to most
Only a hair left behind
A stray hair left unintended
No longer a care to its owner
To most, it would not even be noticed
But to one, is reminds
That which is lost

Scrap of cloth
Kept for years in his pocket
Often held in hand
In the dark of night and mind
Discolored satin to him,
To others just at scrap
Not even a rag
Little more even than lint
Stained to yellow by time and touch
Folded there beneath bills
Existence unknown by others
Meaning would escape even if seen
Significance only to one
Who kept it to remember
When time seemed more kind

Feathers in a vase
Set upon a shelf
Ratty and torn
Void of apparent use
Marked in mud when discarded
By the innocents that once owned them
Saved for some reason
Held now in a jar
Mined by mites slowly
To skeletons and bare quill
Just as time slowly strips
All memories of good
Erases the past
Leaving only the dark


G- March 2009