The thrill as a teenager
to sit behind this writing desk,
ideas pouring out
with the hope of writing
something Kafkaesque.
For years this desk held
a special place in your heart,
hours were spent trying
to fine tune your art.
The memories flood back
once you sit down,
running your hand over
its surface now faded brown.
Many a secret
this desk could tell
along with the ideas
you never could sell.
The drawers once filled
with papers full of your dreams
that didn’t make sense
due to their incoherent themes.
Now this desk is
in need of a new home,
maybe an academic wishing
to complete his latest tome
or an aspiring poet
who has things that need to be said
to help him understand
the goings on in his head.
One last look
before I say goodbye
to a chapter of my life
that now has to die.

Why are you stopping?
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It was the desk in my parents house.
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That’s a good reason 🙂
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