All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Childhood Memory
Childhood memories
resonate
lyric-less songs, distant and lonely.
I hum and tap my foot along
to the deep, lost forever words
and smile.
Sad smiles
reflect in reminiscent eyes.
Reflections in mirrors
die
by and by.
And the delicate glass in heirloom frame
cracks and dims from unsmudged gleam
to tarnished, grim opaque.
These were the days
once celebrated,
once treasured, once dreamt of,
once real.
Here hides a chest
dust-coated, stained wood, brass lock,
its key long ago misplaced.
Rusty hinges and stressed grains
squeal and groan
as I pick the lock
out of memories of the glory days
of young, proud ingenuity.
The lid rises, a gasp lingers,
quivering in thick, sultry attic atmosphere.
Fingers graze and ignite
flashbacks.
Thrown back
into rascal age,
the voiceless music begins again,
this time from the twist
and soft clank of an ancient music box knob.
Dainty notes cushion a restless mind,
a porcelain ballerina spinning on her miniature pedestal tugs me in.
Her painted face traps me,
closes my eyes,
then opens them to my old world again.
Reflections in mirrors
rise
by and by.
Blithe smiles
draw me home.
I lay my head on familiar, worn pillows
as starlight shimmers through clear window panes,
and hold close
a ragged doll,
her clothes sewn by my hand.
Her painted face I tuck against
my steady beating heart.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 0 comments.