JUNKYARD

JUNKYARD

IN A JUNKYARD OF DREAMS

LIES WASTED

ABUSED BUT CHERISHED

OLD BUT YOUNG

OUR LOVE

A FALL FROM HEAVEN

WITH ITS WHITE FEATHERS

SCATTERED

THROUGH THE DIRTY STREETS

FLOATING ON THE SURFACE OF PUDDLES

ALONG WITH OLD CIGARETTE BUTTS

AS SAD AS THE FACE OF THAT

ANGEL

WINGS TORN ON ITS WAY DOWN BOUNCING OFF

THE WINDOWS OF ALL THE SKYSCRAPERS

IT LIES NOW DREAMING OF BETTER DAYS

NOW IT RISES FROM ITS GRAVE AND WITH ITS

LAME GAIT

THROUGH THE GATES OF THE JUNKYARD

BUT NOT WITHOUT A LAST FIGHT WITH

THE JUNKYARD BULLDOG

NOW TORN & WITH WOUNDS

ONLY ONE THOUGHT ON ITS MIND

TO SURVIVE TO LIVE IN ITS DESTINATION

FOR ATLEAST 30 SECONDS

THROUGH SOMBER STREETS

LIT WITH NEON SIGNS AND THE BUZZ OF MOTHS

DIRTY STREET GUTTERS

CONFUSED & LONELY

WITH THE RAVAGES OF A WAR

A BATTLE IT NEVER WENT TO

BUT NOW IN ITS JOURNEY FIGHTS WITH

WHATS LEFT IN IT

BUT IT SLOWLY FOUND ITS WAY

SLOWLY UNDER THE PALE STREET LIGHTS

TO THE STAIR STEPS

CLIMBING WITH PAIN AT EVERY STEP

IT RAISED A HAND

AND WITH A FINGER TWITCHING

FROM FATIGUE

AND RANG THE DOORBELL

I OPENED THE DOOR AND YOU CAME TOO

AND WE HELD IT IN OUR ARMS

IT JUST WEPT

CLOSING ITS EYES AND WITH A BROKEN SMILE

IT FELL ASLEEP

AND WE KEPT IT

AND DAYS WENT BY

NO QUESTIONS ASKED

IT GREW

AND IT BONDED US

IT LIVED WITH US

AND AT NIGHT WENT TO BED WITH US

UNTIL THE DAY YOU PASSED

ALTHOUGH COME TO THINK OF IT

IT NEVER LEFT JUST SLOWLY FADED AWAY

WHEN I WENT TO

AND ALL THOUGH WE ARE ALL GONE

WE ARE STILL HERE

IN THE MEMORIES

ITS EVEN IN OUR PICTURES

OUR LOVE

 

 

 

Reviews

[Pax Analog]

This poem reminds me of the Leonard Cohen lines from his song "Democracy": "I'm stubborn as those garbage bags that time cannot decay/I'm junk but I'm still holdin' up this little wild bouquet."

In this persistence of love, no matter the homely challenge of context, I'm reminded too, of how a blade of grass can manage to grow through stone.

"Love Among the Ruins" too.

Your poem is an excellent reminder of love's indomitability.