Worn
My jeans are tearin' at the seams,
Ain't got a buck to buy 'em new.
Guess I'll have to patch 'em up
For another year's wear and tear.
That's how we all live on;
Mending and tending old wounds.
Somehow, we all get on;
Replacing patches 'til they come undone.
On days when skies are dreary,
I look beyond the gray clouds.
In the back of my closet are those ripped jeans,
Crumpled and worn,
But they feel so right.
They still manage to hold together
While everything else falls apart.
That dirty denim tells a story
Carries all the good times and bad.
Even with the holes and stitches,
They hug me warmly like a glove.
Even in their frayed and tattered disarray,
They have helped me carry on.
Even though those jeans
Don't really look like much,
I know that they're invincible.
Those jeans are like a reflection
Of the meanders in the river of my being.
Those jeans seem to be all I need.
I liked the first verse in the sound and feel. Just somethin' 'bout it was awesome. Then the other verses came out straightforward and seemed to drop me flat. All the same; great poem.
An interesting concept that's written beautifully, well done :)
poetic write,good one.
I see symbolic beauty and depth in it. It's comfortable wearing them, they easily cleave to our mold. Moreover, old is gold, lol.
And interesting use of symbol as the cloth or fabric of passing time. A poet friend//RH Peat
Nice poem, well written
A well penned piece, much enjoyed.
That pair of jeans is an old and dear friend; been to the wars and back with you, and though they might be getting a little frayed around the edges now, they'll be there for as long as you need 'em. Ah... needless to say, I likes it ha ha. : )
A favorite pair of jeans that are past their best we have all had and you describe the comfort of your relationship with them well.