Shiny things (prose-poem)

We leave pieces of ourselves. Stray hair. Skin slough. Even our words stay stuck...

Shiny things

We leave pieces of ourselves. Stray hair. Skin slough. Even our words stay stuck in all the places we've been. So few follow us home. Only peaks and depths find phrases, paragraphs, a never-ending-story, perhaps the covers of a book to rest between. A few go with us wherever we wander. Some remain long after we are gone. But mostly we lose all but the syllables and sounds of us along the way. Most fade besides the rubbish of the forgotten day. Others remain cherished by the wool-gatherers who've crossed our paths. At best, we become woven into their myths or huddle close to their heart like a bauble in a magpie's nest.

         remains of
         shiny things,
         forgotten

© Kåre Enga, 18 september 2012 [169.95]

~122 words

In "Writings: Closed"