Odd Socks
A pair of odd socks tucked in a drawer: one blue, one black, flecked with white; ill-matched for so long; (Maybe: long ill-matched) hiding in darkness never proudly displayed.
I should separate them; initiate search for their mate. Yet something stops me - fear {for}[of] change? thoughts of loneliness? (Maybe: loneliness worries) habit?
I’ve grown used to seeing them paired, so there they lie[,] folded together; one blue, one black, flecked with white; gathering dust, growing old
Hi Nina,
Some suggestions, above.
This poem, I find very sad. It is (to me) a reflection on the Human Condition. It is how we pair when young and them so often drift apart: sock metaphor excellent - one going left, t’other right: the parting of the ways but remaining together.
As usual, I haven’t read any other crits - I shall in a minute. But for me, this has nothing whatsoever to do with socks - yet it does work on that level, if one so desires. For me, this plunges the depth of the sock drawer of life and is very disturbing - because it is so true. Very well done indeed. I can’t honestly say I enjoyed it but it is superb writing - which is why I didn’t enjoy it!
Great stuff. Well done.
James.
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