chantelle ribeiro Poems
The Old Man On A Bench...
An old man on a withered bench
Down by the ocean's end
Staring at the stormy sky
wondering if she's there up high
watching him sit in their favorite spot
where he wrote - forget me not...
'Here is the bench where we would sit
you and I a perfect fit'
He whispers softly to the wind
and wishes she would hear
how he misses her
or wipe the tear
that silently creeps down his face
as he remembers a time and place
Her lively eyes
Her soft grey hair
Memories so bitter-sweet
are all he has of her
And in his gnarled old hand
he lovingly holds her ...
The fog rolls in
Softening the harshness of reality
It blankets everything in a moment
of its ghostly embrace
hiding secrets whispered in the night
In its depths, truth you'll find
The rain falls softly