Ghost

where do we all end up.............

Searching through a box full of ghosts

 

Looking for a life gone past

 

Sunny day memories, new cars, birthday’s

 

Briny vacations, waters fall

 

Black and white people

 

Gathered around picnic tables

 

Faces without names

 

Empty room, clock ticking

 

A black Hefty bag between my legs

 

Cufflinks, clothes, after shave

 

All in

 

Leather pouch, socks

 

A watch with a broken band

 

Is this really where we all end?

Author's Note

When we died...someone cleans up after

Reviews

[Michael of Gilead]

Thank you Radiohead

[Radiohead]

well, yes. We end on a slab, our personal effects bagged up. True fact.
A good poem.

[Michael of Gilead]

Thanks EH, appreciate it

[E.H. Monroe]

s**t, the box of mnemories post death. When you open a shoebox and the smell of grandma comes out, or the slew of pictures that tell stories of serious past and serious times.

F*****g brilliant mate

[Michael of Gilead]

Thanks Poppy, much love :)

[Michael of Gilead]

Thanks for the interesting link Dinesh

[Michael of Gilead]

Thanks Robin, I hear ya

[Ruth]

So true love, poignantly so and heart breakingly so! Amazing word use here! Great poem, we live, burn through, collect things, what happens to things after we are gone? A thought that is relatable!
Great work love
xx

[Dinesh Sairam]

Rather than reviewing, I'd like you to read this:

http://www.sheilaomalley.com/?p=3813

Keep writing.

[Robin]

big ol sigh ...