A suitcase lies among the many things
Abandoned when the owner left for good.
Exposed to elements, old mildew clings
To fabric torn and peeling from the wood.
The dusty handle still emits a shine
In places that endured the frequent grasp
Of hands too hurried by the railroad line
To put on gloves or lock the metal clasp.
What irony! A suitcase left behind
Speaks more about the trip it never made,
Found useless for the task it was designed
When owner passed from substance into shade.
The things that matter now won’t matter then.
The cycle ends only to start again.
About the Poet
Randal A. Burd, Jr. is an educator who works with the disadvantaged in rural Missouri. He holds a master’s degree in English Curriculum & Instruction from the University of Missouri. Randal is currently the Editor-in-Chief of Sparks of Calliope magazine. His latest collection of poems, Memoirs of a Witness Tree, is forthcoming from Kelsay Books in Summer 2020.
It was wonderful to read each line and feel the elements present themselves in my mind. Randal did a great job of making me feel the loneliness and emptiness of the scene. All I could think of was “poor suitcase” as if it were feeling pain. Bravo!
I found myself dwelling in the past
looking for the remains of the old me
wondering, how I used to feel.
What I found was
The love in my blood had drained
The trust I had in people had died
And the loneliness had embraced me
Since the night I stayed awake and cried.
Should I fear it, I questioned
What makes me a human, I don’t feel it anymore
Its been a while since I have felt a touch
I haven’t been touched in a while
touched by kindness
touched by love
touched by affection
I’m locked inside a prison of isolation
No one has come to see me yet
No one tried to free me yet
No one seems to be bothered by my absence
No one cares if I’m doing okay or not.
So I’ve decided to adopt it
Embrace the loneliness to used it for good.
I shut myself in
far away from the world
from the world where nobody cared anything I said
I start to live on my own
inside a big empty hall,
I start to explore,
explore the walls
see if they can protect me
or can they be broken by the storm
The storm lurking outside
waiting for me to go out
so it can devour me from inside
I live by myself
drawing, writing, praying.
drawing poetry, writing stories and saying my prayers
so I can learn to appreciate my solitude
and turn my flaws into art.
