Dead Keepsakes

This is one of my babies. I wrote this in high school and touched it up this semester.

Dead Keepsakes

Hang them from the ceiling
With twine around their necks.
Days go by, the life dripping out of them,
The color draining.
Look what has been done.
But everyone does it
Why put them to waste?
They’re keepsakes,
A reminder of something significant
Or someone significant
In such a useless and forgotten life.
Some parts green, others muddy brown
And the foul stench,
Just the thought is repulsive.

They’re hung from the ceiling with twine,
Swaying slightly as the wind blows
Through the old and dirty drapes,
Filling the room with old air
Despite the new day.

The dust settles on everything, covering what reality lies beneath.

But that wind shifts the covering of the reality.

It has exposed the veracity of the situation

And it is pieced together only to crumble as the keepsakes do when handled roughly.
The years go by and the stench departs slowly
Colors remain the same, yet dulled.
Dried and useless,
A memo from a time of hope.

When he would lull you asleep softly singing a song,

When he would kiss the nape of your neck,

When he would pat your head while it was in his lap.

But the future proved the hopeful times
Weren’t as happy as he said they would be.
So to show him the feeling,
Hang them from the ceiling
With twine around their necks.
Then the days go by, the life drips
And the color drains.
Why put them to waste?
They’re keepsakes.