Mailbox



There is a box
That sits by the door
Always full
Full of nothings

It was once a mailbox
in it letters
written by hands
wanting to reach mine

Now the hands are tied
and the ink has dried
The distance grows
and we can’t reach anymore

Worlds apart
A mailbox full of nothings
Emptiness
What a waste

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One thought on “Mailbox

  1. Parmis,

    Great poem and picture combination. I miss being able to find people, get in touch and send messages to them. I miss the mail.

    There are times I realize that so much has been lost. Your poem struck a deep chord in me.

    This is right in line with what I was talking to my husband about the other day. I wanted to track down my ex-husband’s sister (out-of-state). But it’s been a few years and I’ve lost track of her number and address. I never found her. Last week I couldn’t look up and find someone local to re-string a violin until I got the information from a local word-of-mouth referral. And I was exploring the option of renting an apartment in the next little town where my husband now works. I ended up got looped into websites of phishers and scammers and spammers masquerading as real estate rental agencies.

    With our new “information” age, we’ve given up phone directories and information operators that were once reliable ways to find someone. In exchange for our old and mostly-reliable and accessible database (the actual white and yellow pages from a unified and regulated phone system), we have an internet filled with confusion, scammers and trash.

    Sorry for the rant. 🙂
    Alice

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