At night, my head is teaming with thoughts. And so I write.


Small things

Childhood flies by
The clock strikes
We have only so little time
Presious golden youth
Some pretend not to remember
The sound of father's laughter
The sweet smell of mother's arms
The feel of the first spring rain
The small things
That when taken away
Become bigger than life itself





Poetry by Nyorioko
Read 546 times
Written on 2009-05-03 at 04:22

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I wonder who would choose not to remember a father's laughter, or the sweet smell of a mother's arm? With so many awful things out there, it would seem those would be the very things one would cling to with all their might.

I guess that's the poem of your poem, well done.
2009-05-03


Damon
If people really can't remember, I feel sorry for them. Memories are one of the things that make life worth living. I love your poem about memories and think that you must feel very much the same way about them that I do about mine.
Excellent Work!
Damon
2009-05-03