it too having a story.
But that is now why you are here.
You came for whats inside.
Sitting on the bottom
hiding with the dust bunnies.
Black painted metal
worn and scratched
printed words faded to a smudge.
It's finely crafted lenses
cracked and chipped.
Carefully you lift them
so they can sing there song.
Flashes fill your mind
A women dressed in black
sadness fills her heart
You look down to see
the object in your hand
But it is not your hand you see
it's hers.
You sense her life
where she has been.
You see the world
through her eyes.
A whole lifetime
and more
all flooding in.
As quickly as they came
they are gone
and you are alone
holding her past in your hands.
The picture you posted with your poem makes me happy! I like how narrative your poem is and that the reader is there with you step by step as your speaker experiences this object!
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