Sepia hued postcards, tied with a string
A bale of withered hopes’ n decayed dreams,
I pull at the twine, my fingers quivering,
Ambrosia of undying love spills over its seams.
Like some people, I keep my letters, photographs, and postcards forever. I relive the moments; the memories scatter around, tugging at the heartstrings as I thumb through them one more time.
I wrote this micro verse for a prompt-based contest. The prompt was to weave a verse around ‘postcards.’ This verse was chosen as one of the winners.