Joshua Walker
Still Life
The mirror holds a man I used to be,
A softened jaw, a mouth still shaped for war.
The light is kind—it blurs what I can't see,
Like names I've dropped and years I can't restore.
I dust the frame but leave the glass alone
I've learned too much from fingerprints and shame.
The silence settles deeper into bone,
And every gesture echoes with my name.
My voice is low—it doesn't rise or fall,
Just hums beneath the static of the day.
I lean against the wall, too used to crawl,
And trace the cracks that won't quite give away.
I'm not what broke—I'm just what stayed too long.
A still life built of dust, and silence gone.
Bio
Joshua Walker is a poet from Oklahoma City whose work blends classical form with emotional nuance. His poems have appeared in independent journals across the U.S., U.K., and Ireland. Writing as "The Last Bard," he explores memory, survival, and the quiet weight of persistence.