The Old Music Box
The Years of music played memories of us
The Old Music Box
It played a tune so soft, so low,
It seemed to breathe, to hum, to cry,
The lid was cracked, the paint was worn,
But still it sang when time went by.
I found it in a dusty chest,
Beneath old lace and yellowed dreams,
Its notes like whispers through the years,
Each one a bridge across the seams.
The song it played was sweet and sad,
Of lovers lost, of youth once dear,
And when it stopped, I turned the key,
Just to keep the ghosts near.
Now every night I let it play,
Its melody a living thread,
And though the room is empty now,
The past still dances with the dead.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (3)
What a memory did you actually find an old music box. Good job.
wonderful
Your piece, love it. Like a little story it painted a picture from start to end. And what I liked the most: how it has that haunting emotion, the kind that lingers long after you done reading. It carries. Applause.