- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Junkyard
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A warm brown-red, the ragged heap of wrecks
grows slowly higher. Every year it adds
another layer to its uselessness,
a rusty sediment made up from time
and careless circumstance. The dents you see
may have been made by any impact, some
that caused distress and pain, some the result
of having been stacked roughly on the pile;
old bloodstains by and by take on the guise
of rust, and you will fail to recognise
once bright upholstery – the rains' decay
has seen to that as well. Nobody will
feel any better for this sight; it seems
you only see illusions gone to ground:
scrap iron that once started life as dreams.
- COMMENTS
Tsothaalmost 10 years agoIt might not be pretty, but it's better than leaving the wrecks on the street. Sometimes the junkyard is useful, too, providing the material we need to fix something that isn't ready to be scrapped.
Neonuroticalmost 10 years agoKind of in agreement with tod on this one about the brown-red, but mostly the "warm brown-red" as brown-red is a warm color. Metaphors are right on as usual, you're so good writing them, demur. Lots of depth, sad and lovely.
pelegrinoalmost 10 years agoA continus descent from dream to dust or rust as you put it! And the only thing increasing is the heap, the entropy of the universe, as if governed by the 2nd thermodynamic law.
I tried to read it or to think about it in a retrograde direction. I could again go back only as far as your words went, no more. Pure melancholy.
Well done!
5ed.
tazz317almost 10 years agohow the pyramids were hidden, TK U MLJ LV NV or maybe you can, mlj
todski28almost 10 years agoThe warm in Brown red,
the rest is sublime,
and can as easily be. Scrap yard or a person's own thoughts left lying in decay.
