What’s Past is Past

When last we met we carved our names
on that tree trunk and left it there
with thoughts it’d last, but last I passed
the tree, it’s trunk, the names, faded,
and that is that.



Poetry by Sameen The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 2741 times
Written on 2025-09-19 at 17:24

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
Love, obsession, and the likes, have this ability to sometimes inspire unrealistic expectations... hence the 'rose coloured glasses'. However, what a dreadful world it would be if we spurned such feelings and lived life in a stark black and white world eh? Of course it is sad that our expectations never materialised in circumstances like your tree carvings. Awfully the carvings themselves have faded: Normally they at least remain as a sweet reminder of what once was. Its a nice poem, though imparting sorrow. well done. Blessings, Allen PS: Forgive mu apparent verbosity. You struck a nerve!
2025-09-19


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Sic transit gloria mundi.
2025-09-19