Remembrance

Thin wrinkled fingers
running through sepia pages
hymns assiduously rendered
devotion untouched through ages

Sitting by the yellow light
I used to listen with patience
stories from a distant time
tales narrated with subtle pretence

Stories that took me
somewhere I could never go
reached out to me in misery
as hard times would quietly flow

Sitting below the moon
on a moonless night
her soothing voice took over
all my miserable plight

A mirror to the glorious past
hiding present aberrations
A face cracked up by lines
formed by years of lamentations

Now she rests inanimate
atop her wooden closet
often crossing my dreams
leaving behind an incurable fret