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sam-millerPoems
A single memory Sitting on the shelf behind my head Collecting dust in the soft plush Lying on its back as its dormancy grows The little lion Hamlet, named so for the insanity we shared Sat on my shelf like a paperweight made of cotton Until tonight He’s all I have left of you now As              You                                  Slowly                                                      Drift Away. My little lion I did not recognize how small he was Curled against my chest like an infant But I remembered the nights we shared Keeping the nightmares away so I could sleep I missed him I missed feeling the delicate fur against my arm His velvety bow against my wrist The curve of his plushy paw between my fingers And now I miss you
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Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 8:48 AM UTC
Little Lion
A single memory Sitting on the shelf behind my head Collecting dust in the soft plush Lying on its back as its dormancy grows The little lion Hamlet, named so for the insanity we shared Sat on my shelf like a paperweight made of cotton Until tonight He’s all I have left of you now As              You                                  Slowly                                                      Drift Away. My little lion I did not recognize how small he was Curled against my chest like an infant But I remembered the nights we shared Keeping the nightmares away so I could sleep I missed him I missed feeling the delicate fur against my arm His velvety bow against my wrist The curve of his plushy paw between my fingers And now I miss you
sam-miller
Written by
sam-miller
American
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 8:48 AM UTC
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