In the sun’s glow
See the bracelet
Radiate on white
Folds of skin

In the shadows
The pretty handcuff
Lies draped over
Immobile thumbs

In the cold room
Specks of dust rise
Fall and settle upon
The silver strands

In the space between
I hear voices of soon
Dead relatives and friends
With trinkets

poem © copyright Brian Shirra 2013


5 thoughts on “Trinkets

  1. I see the initial joy in life, its fleeting happiness, the emotive prisons we then make for ourselves, and finally all is gone, the silver “trinkets” inevitably turn to rust..dust.., and I like much this write~jackie~….

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