Mar 2012
They sit on the side,
discarded like a football
after a PE lesson.
A slight scratch
on one lens,
long and white.
They’re old and weak,
more fragile,
more bleak.
More flaws.
The rose pattern on them
is fading. Almost gone.
They should be replaced,
but we know that won't happen.
They’re still beautiful somehow.
As time passes,
they are more of a spectacle.
With or without that scratch.
But your glasses, a familiar sight
on the side in the sunlight.
Alone again.
discarded like a football
after a PE lesson.
A slight scratch
on one lens,
long and white.
They’re old and weak,
more fragile,
more bleak.
More flaws.
The rose pattern on them
is fading. Almost gone.
They should be replaced,
but we know that won't happen.
They’re still beautiful somehow.
As time passes,
they are more of a spectacle.
With or without that scratch.
But your glasses, a familiar sight
on the side in the sunlight.
Alone again.
Written: February 2012.
Explanation: My fifth poem for university in 2012. This is about my friend's glasses. At the time of writing, I was not even sure if this friend had these glasses anymore. For the purposes of the poem, I actually made the glasses sound like they were in a bad condition, when in reality, (if my friend still has them), they are not that way at all.
Explanation: My fifth poem for university in 2012. This is about my friend's glasses. At the time of writing, I was not even sure if this friend had these glasses anymore. For the purposes of the poem, I actually made the glasses sound like they were in a bad condition, when in reality, (if my friend still has them), they are not that way at all.
