Empty Nest

Realizing the past is reduced to memories.

Hours, days, years
Pass nimbly by
Erasing yesterdays

Pitter-patters become footsteps
That run away.
To begin a new life

The past rusts, parts are lost or missing
We struggle to buff and repair
To keep the pieces together

Dust collects on holidays,birthdays, vacations
Confined to boxes, scrapbooks, and attics
Yellowing as years pass.

Canonized memories
hang in wooden frames.
Staring, haunting, ghostly images of the past