Discarded Tinsel

It’s the winter cold,
That cuts the most,
Reminding me of old,
Of efforts like ghosts,
Gone like my breath,
Caught upon this chill,
Fluttering to its death,
Like such discarded tinsel.

Once lustrous, boldly gleaming,
Now faded beyond glory,
Having lost all meaning.

Prompt: from the kind writers over at the pub, dVerse, “Tinsel” as part of their Quadrille Series #142. Always a pleasure to buy a round for the bar.

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9 thoughts on “Discarded Tinsel

  1. So utterly chilling and hard hitting, Masa. I think when a poet manages to make me NOT realize there’s a rhyme-scheme within their poem that it’s a brilliant, mesmerizing piece. Not to say I don’t like overt rhymes, but just my preference and it allows me to absorb the piece better on a re-read. Love this one!

    Like

  2. When past efforts are just “discarded tinsel,” wasted breath like ghosts, old glories overlooked lose meaning. The pain here cuts deep especially in the pitiless winter of old age. Beautifully conceived and conveyed, Masa.
    Pax,
    Dora

    Like

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