Echo's Of The Past Poem by Steve Ricketts

Is it just that love we miss, or the fact that your no longer here. That silent space that you once owned, is still the same now on it's own, easy comfort grew through the years. Is not the same without you here. Papers read like before, with out your comments on all you saw. Tea now brewed in it's pot, maybe just one thing forgot, fine china now put away, pour it in one mug today.

Lunch time's here again, fresh bread awaits that kitchen knife, door step start to arrive, a few to many for my eyes. Will I ever realise, this how it use to be. Time to turn that t.v on, channel hopping once again, nothing feels quite the same, lets leave it on all the same, it's nice to hear a voice again, the sound can drowned this silence out.

Time for bed I suppose, I've read all that my eye's can hold, tired mind is best for me, then why's my sleep escaping me. Could it be the sheet too cold, or maybe that this bed too old, bigger now than it use to be, or is it that your not with me. Toss and turn all night long, without you here who gives a care.

Alarm bells ring in my mind, it alright I'm doing fine, hit the clock just once more. Yes, I know this isn't fair, it's sleep my mind is craving for. Another minute before I brave, the cold that waits to welcome me. Off to work my day begins, at least I'll have some company, a whole week ahead of me, days so full with lots to do, strange how time won't stay still, it's home that now beckons me. I wonder what I'll cook for tea, come on now just turn that key, and so my play begins again.