This poem was inspired by a walk in the woods at Buttermilk Falls Inn, when I came upon this long-forgotten bench. I began to think about what stories this ‘object’ might tell, could it speak. How many lovers, hand in hand, approached and stayed awhile? How many farewells were tearfully delivered while sitting together on this bench? How many woodland denizens have called this structure home? How many passers-by have kept on walking? And why, after all these years, does this inanimate object speak to me so eloquently of life, history, and promise for the future? I have no answers to these questions but this poem is an attempt to capture some of the mystery and beauty that this bench evokes. I leave it to the reader to further speculate.
I’m frozen ‘mid the snowy branch-felled brush,
Through years of weather-bearing solitude, alone,
I still replay the songs sincerely sung,
By lovers, stealing here from judging eyes.
I guard and safely hoard their sacred secrets,
And thus bear silent witness to the past,
Shedding light on what may someday be.
A boy and girl, a-blush and holding hands,
He wooed a willing love; her auburn locks
let down, then falling soft upon his arm.
They met each eve, as nightfall crossed the fields,
When dusky hues engulfed this hidden place,
Their wispy sighs, their ‘dare-to-speak-of’ dreams,
Here shared, launched and always, lingered free.
That fateful hour of their taking leave,
Descending twilight closing in, they’ll part,
Her tears, escaping from sienna eyes
Fell silent, salty gems upon his woven shirt,
One last, tender kiss for vows renewed.
I gave them shelter safe, a moment’s peace
from war-torn world, a tossing tempest sea.
I stand here still, most passers pass me by,
A moss-cloaked monument to seasons past,
Repositor of gardenia-laden dreams,
Holding secrets dear, they’re locked within
my rusting rungs and splintering splines,
Hints of hope ‘mid canine frames of iron,
Of seasons come and gone and yet to be.
This is my response to this week’s DP Challenge https://dailypost.wordpress.com/category/writing-challenges/ suggesting “Object” as a theme. the object in question is the bench in the photograph. I write in the first person, as the bench, and in so doing, mark the beginning of NaBloPoMo March (Theme: SELF).