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| Old Telephone Booth by Jiri Hodan image from publicdomainpictures.net |
As the dusk faded away
And the moon rose high
In the midsummer night,
His thoughts wandered
To the faded phone number
Scrawled in pencil
On the back of a recipe card,
Buried with the essentials
In his rucksack
But never far from his mind,
A ten digit link
To the life he could have had,
The one within his grasp
Until anger built a fence
They could never climb.
He could call that number,
Beg to be forgiven,
But after all these years
He knows that number
Only connects
To an empty phone booth,
No operator assistance available
To trace love’s last call.
~~~ This poem was written using words from the Sunday Whirl a few weeks ago…a little late to actually link the poem up over there but still like giving them a bit of credit, great little community of writers! I will be sharing this one over at Poetic Asides for this week’s prompt of memory poems.
2 comments:
oh this is so touching....some moments really matters...and when they are gone.....great write...
Sometimes a person just doesn't get a second chance. A good story told here with these wordle words.
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