Chipped mug in a cupboard

Dinner Mug

A challenge

It’s old cracked and worn
From the love that it’s seen
In the light you can still see a trace

At the back of our cupboard
It sits alone and unwashed
Ol’ shadowed time capturing a face

The only thing I have left
To remember you by
And looking at it now sadness drips

Opportunities lost
Hidden words left unsaid
Heart like ropes over which I still trip

They don’t understand why
It still sits on that shelf
Keep telling me to get something new

That while it still sits there
It’s like you’re still around
Their heads are thick, words just don’t get through

In the morning I sit
Tell you how well I slept
The trivial things you never heard

And for a brief moment
Twirling feathers in air
I lift off from the ground like a bird

Things will change, I know that
I’m not fooling myself
Gripping tight till it tears me apart

I’ll look at the cupboard
And just see an old mug
Not time mending pieces of my heart

© July 2023 AM (Xander) Hunter

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Stoneacorn (Xander)

These songs, poems, and reflections offer an insight to who I am and are my autobiography. I am a poet, a song writer, a witch. I dance my Wyrd in my practice; in how I choose to live; in who I share my moments with. My heart is black, white, grey and purple like the stone beneath my feet, the bones of Grandfather Green. My eyes contain her Stars and her deep dark well as I straddle the hedge and listen to the winds. My form is the tree that connects all realms, clothed in holly and oak. I am Stoneacorn

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