Slippers

Days glide quietly by, so easily,
Worn as comfortable slippers,
Caressing a journey of tired, aching feet,
The compounded sum, of yet another year,
Pages in a seasonal tome, published
In the confetti of autumn,
Each year another chapter,
An incomplete record of events,
Becoming as ancient etchings, inked
Upon life’s papyrus, casting
About for reason, for time.

©2016, Donald Harbour

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This old house

Forever, an old house has stood in a field,
A grey silent sentinel ghost of the past,
It stands consumed by the morning fog,
Leaning imperceptibly, it is unperturbed,
The house knows its value, its purpose remains,
People may forget history, the house will not,
Lives passed through  its doors and rooms,
Children once scampered and played on its porch,
Lazy hounds escaped the summer heat there,
How many meals were cooked in its kitchen,
What joy gathered there in its dining room,
It has seen men go off to war, never returning,
It has heard the moan of birthing pain,
Then, swelling with the cries of a newborn,
Silenced, Sunday hymns once sang its song,
Where old men whittled, a possum or two live,
A tree is growing up  though the porch floor,
Now forlorn, passed by, it is indistinguishable,
Time is swallowing it year upon year,
That boundless cavern has eaten its heart,
Its eyes to the outside world hollow, glass-less,
The house will slowly collapse into the earth,
While it stands, it holds the vault of memories,
But, just as the house, memories die with time too,
When they are gone, only the debris of life remains.

©2015, Donald Harbour

Skipping stones

Selecting a small smooth flat
river rock, he wrote his name
on one side and threw it
skipping across the water.

Standing silently, watching,
he turned quickly as it
sank beneath the surface
to be collected on the bottom.

To him the rippling mirror
was life momentarily touched.
The stone a soul cast out
on an unknown journey.

It was a truth welling up,
a realization that time
and water could not support
the burdens of a life forever.

It would be so easy giving in
to the gravity of his life.
A momentary lapse would mean
another unknown journey.

There was a comfort in that,
he felt a calm, an inner peace.
For the first time he felt
connected to the moment.

Of all the millions of stones
that lay beneath the water,
this stone was different.
This stone had his name on it.

©2012, Donald Harbour