Buried

 

In the darkness it makes it's well trodden rounds,
Worn brakes screech with each seemingly never ending stop.
Balding tires roll to a shaky halt,
while rusty metal and faded paint
flitter and fall to pot holed pavement.
Deteriorating arms reach for the roach infested bin
and again the foul stench of cargo drifts
into what was once a flower scented breeze.
The groan of it's neglected hydraulic pump
echoes in the stillness of the night
when it lifts and spills the contents
into an empty void.
 
It then makes it's way to the landfill
to dump it's load atop previously deposited debris,
where it is covered and capped
in hopes no smell can be detected,
but it is known that beneath it all
seeps the toxic waste which lingers, infecting
the surrounding land, possibly to poison
those who dare enter within it's boundary.

And so it goes, a repeated scenario for as far
as the eye can see and the mind can imagine.
The dumping and burying of emotional baggage
brought upon them by the men or women
who claim to love them, only to use them as their
personal garbage bin.

As long as you willingly continue being
a garbage truck, the mound will grow and
your ground will remain a danger to you
and others as well.