What He Carried

His wallet, a relic, cracked and well-worn,

splayed on the table, a treasure chest found.

A photo of family, a world that’s forlorn,

a ticket for journeys he never turned round.

Faded receipts, remnants of things long since spent,

stories tucked neatly in layers of time.

Each piece a reminder of moments he lent,

clasped in the leather, like words in a rhyme.

A slip of paper, inked in his careful hand,

a message for me that echoes through days,

with love like a compass to help me understand,

how life moves like shadows through laughter and haze.