Good Old Chair

Red Chair

I held your weight when you came home at night,

cushioning your aches in my velvet heat.

I bore the weight of your stolen dreams

while you laid your shoes at my feet.

I held all spilled tears of sorrow,

squeaked joy at each happiness,

endured every slice of ridicule,

in all weather, I withstood the test.

But I prepared for the inevitable,

though worn with age and time.

Built sturdy to last lifetimes,

I knew you’d leave me behind.

I prepared for this moment

with each move and rearrangement.

Your longer hours at work

mostly helped the estrangement.

I thought I worth was a little more,

not considered old, but antique.

Never believed some paper doll

meant more to you than me.

I believed for just a moment

that you would even dare,

to weigh the quiet moments.

Think me more than a chair.

You proved me wrong on moving day,

when baby girl stood crying at the door.

Everything packed, but you came back

to pick her paper dolly off the floor.

Doll By Bailey Powell

 

© Daydreamer

 

Submitted for dVerse Poets Pub, With Real Toads, The Mag, and Poets United.  Glad to know these great poets! Come see!