Solitary Sentinel
Face filled with history,
sixty odd years have passed in this house,
his mother’s table still by the wood stove,
just as it was when she was here.
The bakelite radio muttering indiscernible words,
monotone monologue of worlds at once
important and irrelevant.
Detritus and stains,
no one worried about the stains,
or the yellowed newspapers piled at one end,
tales from years past,
the spanner for the separator,
that old can opener
and a dirty spoon and dish,
tell-tales of forgotten soap,
the smells of kitchens past.
He shifts to spy the time,
chair creaking,
the clock ticking his hours down.
The smoke stained paint
momentarily haunting his memory
of days when it was fresh and gleaming.
His mother died last year,
and his true love before that,
though, she never actually arrived,
she passed in his mind,
as so many things do.
Routine his only salvation,
to sit and keep watch,
a solitary sentinel,
just as she was.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
nice. I could feel the sentiment. 🙏🏻
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Many thanks Mark.
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Welcome. 🙂
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I love this writing.
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Thank you so much for such a lovely response.
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The loneliness is palpable the way you wove your words.
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Thank you Sandy, yes, the loneliness.
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This one is amazing.
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Thank you very much Rupali, lovely words
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Reblogged this on From 1 Blogger 2 Another.
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Thank you Douglas
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Paul, you’re welcome!
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wow you described the loneliness of so many … hanging on to the past unable to engage fully with the present … 😦
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Every day they come 😔
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sadly yes … it seems such a fruitless life 😦
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Yes, I feel that too
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if they would only volunteer or get involved in community I’m sure they would thrive with a meaningful connection …
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My constant mantra these days, my view is that too many are burdened with stuff going on that has no actual meaning, but to which they are shackled. The govt. has no leadership on this, only as a punitive – work for the dole, and you must now wait for the pension, hardly incentives to volunteer freely.
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😦
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Poignantly explains what many go through.
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Sadly, I meet too many old blokes like this
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Very nice description. Well done
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Many thanks.
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Sad life of some – words recreating memories of people I once knew and fears I have for some people I know now
>
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This one came from a very deep place within
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