Bed

What personal belongings do you hold most dear?

A comfortable bed beneath my weary spine,
Cool air from the whispering air cond divine—
It soothes the fire of the day’s long burn,
A silent promise: rest will return.

As for treasures I hold near,
Not gold nor fame do I revere—
But quiet moments, a worn-out book,
The scent of letters no one else took.

My memories folded in fabric old,
Shoes that walked roads brave and bold,
Photos kissed by time’s soft breath,
And whispered prayers that outpace death.

These are my belongings, simple, rare—
Not much to boast, but rich to bear.